There was a road that wrapped around the corner of Lexington and Pave. And there was a man that lived in a house on the street which this road intersected. And there was a boy that this man noticed from time to time, riding on his bike down the road. On occasion this man on this road would stop his daily deeds to observe the passing of this young lad.  Normally he wouldn’t have found anything particularly peculiar about this boy, yet he reminded him of a similar boy he once knew. Himself. As a child the man remembered riding his own bike down a similar path. Back when cares weren’t given and time was measured in sunsets and home cooked meals. And the concept of homework was merely a small inconvenience that separated his bike rides from that period between slumber and consciousness. Oh, how this man missed those warm summer evenings and the freedom of a long bike ride. He envied this boy’s durability, for his joints and resilience were no longer what they used to be. As time passed the man wasted the better part of his day surveying the boy’s comings and goings. He even placed a lawn chair out in front of his house for this occasion. And everyday, around noon, and every evening around five the man was transported back into his earlier years. It didn’t matter if he was now old and somewhat fragile, for those moments, when the boy would pass, he’d remember his youth and how precious it was. And as some would say youth is wasted on the young, this man couldn’t disagree more. Because as he watched the boy pass he felt a sense of gratitude for everything he had experienced through his adolescence. And maybe that juvenescence was over and he was now aged and grown and maybe that was okay.