At the corner garden the gate was draped with security-tape. Someone was replacing the steps leading to the front door. He introduced himself. Cal. He had the kind of mien that certain farmers have, of being square with the world. He asked whether the parking patrol comes around. His big Ram pickup was parked nearby. I didn’t know. The operations of the parking concession are and will remain mysterious. What I noticed is that in our conversation my image of him was that he was older than me, though I guess he’s maybe sixty.
I am a fourteen-year old in a soon to be 74-year old body. Will it ever change? In the meantime, here are the options: demean the 14-year old for his arrested development, or love him for his inimitable charm.
One more thing to love on our street.
In Faro's Garden 
And you too…one more loved one–young’un or elder–on our street.
Yes, I know what you mean. I read it to Rosy and she remarked, how can you not love the 14 year Richard with his inimitable charm. I agree.