Out of His League

by Charlie Brule

“Oh what it was like to be in my twenties,” the man joked between slightly disjointed teeth, tainted with the yellows of age. He smiled at the girls beside him, clearly too young to have motivation to flirt back with the gentleman. Clad in his Rockies shirt with the same logo that stretched across the girls' chests, which his murky blue eyes barely stole away from as he continued to drone on. The girls exchanged annoyed glances with each other, silently searching for vacant seats. The pants he wore road up and exposed his tired tennis shoes, scuffed along the orange edges and soles. Faded coloring along his pockets suggested the jeans had seen many days, many similar flirtatious fails. He pulled out his phone attempting to impress the ladies, yet failing to notice his outdated technology. His phone then rang and he smoothly flipped it open and placed it against his sizeable ears. The wrinkled mouth sunk to a saggy frown and his eyes diluted to a duller blue, “Hello honey.” His voice was now quiet and soothing; the girls shook their heads with judgment in their eyes. The train came to a halt and the girls departed, leaving the man to comfort his wife alone in his booth on the light rail.