And his beautiful grace

This afternoon, as the sun was just beginning to drop behind the line of buildings, and send a glare into the windscreen of my car, I spotted an almost indistinguishable figure, loping along the pavement to my right. I was turning right, to journey along Goodwood Road, and was wearing my driving sunglasses, those ones that have the slight pattern of tortoiseshell, shaped in the style of wayfarers, and, due to this, the figure was ever more camouflaged. I slid my sunglasses down off the bridge of my nose with one finger, and gazed at this mysterious man. He was wearing a black coat, buttoned to the top, double breasted, black jeans, black shoes, glasses the same as mine, yet black also. And his beautiful grace captivated me, the way he held himself, slightly self consciously, yet with such poise, as he loped along the side of the road, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. I was brought to my senses with a car horn blasting behind me, completely captured by this strange figure, and not noticing the red light had turned green. I crunched into gear with a grimace, and tore off, around the corner in first, forgetting to change, not caring, because I just had to catch a glimpse of this beautiful creature once again. He’d crossed the road by the time I reached where he was, and was standing, leaning casually against a bus stop as I drove, admittedly, quite slowly past him. I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed to be openly staring at a stranger. I feel like we met eyes, but I suppose I couldn’t have known either way if he was looking at the strange girl, with the matching red beret and lipstick, who slowed down to look at him as she drove past, as he was still wearing the black glasses. It felt like we had an understanding of each other, and the left corner of his lips twitched and lifted slightly, so I suppose he must have been looking at something; why not me? I wanted to drive back for a closer look, I even toyed with the idea of getting out and talking to him; he looked like such an intuitive person, and even as I write this, I feel I knew this mysterious stranger, if only for a second. But that probably would have spoiled this encounter. I instead, sped up and changed lanes, turning up the melancholy music that was playing from the speakers. I felt tears pricking my eyes, as I thought how I’d lost a moment that felt unique and special. Ashamedly, I cleared my throat, and thought of something else to take my mind off my perfect, beautiful stranger.