Elevator

As I rounded the corner to the elevator, a gentleman stood there quietly waiting, eyes downcast. As he slowly looked up, I smiled and he gave a quick nod of acknowledgement. From beneath the ten gallon cowboy hat, long gray hair cascaded. The hat had been his partner for a few years. As I spoke, he listened carefully with his gentle eyes set in a face that is lined with years of work studying me. When I was finished, he was quiet a moment before slowly articulating his thoughts. I smiled. He smiled beneath his whiskers. As we talked, I fell easily into the slow rhythm of our conversation.

A man in a classy suit joined us, and I could sense his discomfort. With the quiet pauses, he would shift his weight. It was then I realized the slow pace made him uncomfortable. He was accustomed to the staccato rhythm of urban conversation.

As the doors opened, the brim of his hat tipped in farewell as his head bowed, as he waited for me to exit. As I glanced over my shoulder as I headed down the hall, I saw him looking down at the unfamiliar papers in his hand as he sauntered away in his new wranglers.