Go people watching and write an ode to a stranger you see on the street.
I watch you every day walking the circular route from your house, along the seafront, past my window and down the street back home. Your enthusiasm puts my self-indulgent couch-potato lifestyle to shame. I have no idea how old you are but you must surpass me by at least a score and ten, and I am no spring chicken having retired many a year ago. A fair-weather walker you are not, only defeated by gales, storms and the kind of phenomena that turns the ground to an ice rink. Occasionally you’ll look-up and we wave but mostly you’re too focused.