Carlos

Old Carlos was waiting on a bench, with his walker right next to the bench that was accidently polka-dotted gray where the red paint was chipping off slowly. He was wrinkly, his shirt was not tucked in and his glasses were wide and gold, and it took him a moment to turn sideways when young Carlos plopped onto the bench next to him, scratched knees on short legs swinging, punctuating the air with his red sneakers.

“Now those are sneakers!” said old Carlos, and young Carlos scrunched up his whole face so his eyes were squinting to make a big toothy face. It was barred teeth really, but he kept swinging his feet and the other Carlos was old so maybe he didn't notice or care and he made an old-person snorting laugh sound. The kind you can't tell if it's through the nose or the mouth.

Geninne was watching this from across the street. She was wearing a velour sweatsuit and watering the plants on her front porch and being very nosy.

Young Carlos was smacking gum, said through the saliva, “Wanna piece?” Old Carlos made that sound again and just said “I used to blow bubblegum at school. Wasn't allowed it at home.” Young Carlos had turned his attention to the walker, was standing on the bench to look at it. The old man stood, shakily, and gestured with both hands like a waiter showing the dessert spread, “You like my ride?”

Carlos is going to hurt himself, Geninne said to her cat, if he's not careful.

“Yes!” said young Carlos, and he jumped off the bench into the walker, catching himself like a gymanst between the two bars, holding himself up and swinging those short legs.
Old Carlos laughed loudly.
The metal squeeked, unprepared to bounce.

On Geninne's side of the street, The Renegade was walking up the sidewalk. He stopped in front of her house to light a cigarette. “'Afternoon” he said, and Geninne was about to scold but he locked eyes with her and the words melted in her mouth like butter.

Now young Carlos was monkeying and making faces up at old Carlos, dancing in circles around him, hiding behind the bench and popping up, and old Carlos was hunched with his hands on his knees, bending more than he had in a while making faces back at him, moving as fast as he could to turn round and keep up. A bell rang from up the street a bit and at the same time a voice down the street the opposite way called out, Caarrrlos! They each looked in opposite directions.

“It's time to go,” said old Carlos, and then he sighed. “Got-to-go,” said the young one.
“I wish you could stay.”

Smoke lingered in front of Geninne's house, where she was just standing, done with watering plants. The cat yawwwned.
“Carlos, he's always late for dinner!” she chided. “Stays out so long...”
A bus stopped in front of the bench, and she looked up the sidewalk, watched The Renegade getting smaller for a moment. The bus pulled away and Geninne blinked, seeing the bench empty. In the fading rumble of the bus, the fading smoke, the street was quiet and vacant and she was alone; she looked up and down one more time and the cat got up, walked inside, dismissed her.