My finger extended in the moonlight, mocking shadow beneath agreeing. The street was quiet with a thick sort of silence that seemed to stifle any crackling leaf scuttling across the pavement. All was still in the eerie street-light hum. The place that buzzed in the sunlight of any afternoon had somehow not seen any movement in years.
“That’s quite far for an old-timer like myself,” the man croaked. “No place closer?”
He was instantly recognizable as a city man. Sharp suit, beard trimmed from scraggle, what hair remained was slicked back behind his ears and receded hair line. His glasses reflected the sky’s feeble light. Or maybe just the glint in his warm eyes shone through. Everything about him was comfortable and warm. He contrasted the night.
“No, that’s the only one in town actually,” I answered. Despite the rusty croak in his voice, I was disappointed with the way my own words sounded following his into the stillness.
“Very well. Any chance you could give me a ride? I hate to ask, but at my pace I won’t get there until after midnight.”
I glanced over my shoulder at my car, whose tires sunk sadly into the lake-soaked mud beside the water, and suddenly I wished I had walked down to the lake. Maybe it was his age, or the inherent warmth in his voice, or his dry-cleaned suit, or his leather briefcase, or maybe something about the chill of the night that made me sympathetic.
“Yea, of course.”