Tap Tap

Tap, tap.
Tap, tap.

The old man tapped his stick in impatience. It was long and made of wood with a metal tip on the end. It was black as night although the color was slowly fading and flaking with age.

Tap, tap.

He wore a pair of black old-man shoes; his brownish gray socks were pulled up almost to his knee. Although no one saw. No one ever saw. He always wore a pair of slacks. On this particular day, this dreary, rain-filled day of sitting, waiting in the train station, he wore a pair of navy blue slacks which matched his navy blue suit coat.

Tap, tap.

The coat's buttons were made of a dark wood and just hanging on to the coat by the threads. His shirt, a dark, almost maroon red, fit loosely on his thin fram and was tucked under his slacks by a dark brown belt almost as old as he.

Tap, tap.

He wore no tie that day, unlike he usually would have. It was his wife's favorite shirt and she never liked seeing him wear it with a tie.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

His watch ticked on. An old wrist watch wich never told the correct time. The man would never buy a new watch nor buy a phone with which to tell the time. He did not trust all this new fangled technology his grandchildren had.

Tap, tap.

His face was wrinkled as any old man's would be. His top lip was covered by his enourmous walrus moustache which he trimmed once a week. Atop his nose sat a pair of glasses large and round which he wore to read the newspaper held by the person next to him on the bench.

Tap, tap.

The one in question was not aware of this intrusion upon their privacy. Either that or he did not care.

Tap, tap.

The old man wore no hat; his unruly hair bare for all to see. It was almost silver with age and not well kept despite his wife's efforts that morning.

Tap.

The man's tapping stick was interupted by the train entering the station. He grabbed his brown, leather bag which sat on his other side, wished the stranger next to him good day and walked towards the train his stick tapping as he went along.