When I was a kid, I was always reading books. Occasionally I’d look outside to see my younger brother and his friends raring down the driveway on their chopper bikes. His was a metallic blue with silver flash details, high handle bars and a big black seat.
Our house was built on a hill and the driveway sloped down on a long straight gradient. I recall shouts and hoots of excitement as eleven-year-old boys shot down the drive, swerving at the last minute to avoid garage walls. Like all boys of that age, they’d get hot, sweaty and grubby. I’d roll my eyes, wonder “Why?” and get back to my book.
A bazillion years later, I’m walking through the Cholon district with my photo-guide Reggie. Reggie is a young man who wears a newsie cap and heavy horn-rimmed glasses that do nothing to disguise his age. He tells me that he likes risotto, film photography and Irish girls.
Whether by chance or design, we go to an alley cluttered with motor bikes in different states of repair. The owner is a gaunt older gentleman with long hair and aviator glasses. He reminds me of an aged Peter Fonda in Easy Rider. It takes no encouragement at all, for him to pose for a shot.
Haiku #3 Boys grow into men Who become old men who are Always boys at heart.
This post is one in a series inspired by Just One Person from Around the World. I write about ordinary people living ordinary lives, in places around the world. CadyLuck Leedy kicked off the weekly challenge and on her blog, you’ll find similar posts and links to Just One Person from Around the World.
Photos taken in Saigon, Vietnam. 2015