The old man stood alone.
He leaned heavily on his cane, gazing at the sidewalk before him. It was a simple code: letter followed by a symbol followed by another letter. That universal message of adoration.
How could he forget etching it in wet cement with his blushing bride by his side? A lifetime ago. But she was gone now, three years and counting.
The car horn blared. The kids were impatient, eager to dump him at his new home. Let’em wait. He was going to savor this moment with her a little while longer.
Letter. Symbol. Letter.
The Weekday One Hundred 