When you’re wet, but you need to leave for work…

Roberto.
Walked out of the hallway.
Dressed in black.
Top to bottom.
The logo of a dog’s yellow pawprint.
Splashed.
On the front.
Of his long-sleeved work shirt.
His shoes were shined.
His apron draped.
Carefully.
Over his bent arm.
And his smile was bright.

Off to work?
I questioned.
His attire the obvious answer.
Yeah.
But, I didn’t give myself time to dry my pants.
He laughed.
I stared at him.
Confused.
Well.
He continued.
He ran a hand down the thigh of his left leg.
These pants are soaking wet.
Seriously?
I snorted.
Yeah.
They are completely wet.
He said.
As a matter-of-fact.
I smirked.
And furrowed my brows.
I didn’t know how to respond.
So I didn’t.

Roberto.
My son.
The kid who is full of life.
With a go-with-the-flow kind of attitude.
Walked out the front door, off to work.

Love you.
He yelled.
Love you, too.
I called after him.

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