Footwork

In flimsy sandals and a cigarette in one hand, Tony juggles the soccer ball, popping it right foot, left foot. From his stoop, his neighbor, Will, watches, counts. Fifty times, thumping. Day in and day out. With each tap, Will imagines some burden lifted from Tony. They have never spoken, but Will admires the way joy sweats through Tony’s t-shirt, distracts from the loneliness of a hot summer day. One day, Will sees the ball escape Tony’s kick and idle across the grass. Cautiously, he ambles toward it and taps. Tony flicks his cigarette, looks up and dribbles it back.