My Friend, the Security Guard.

Every workday afternoon I end up walking the same route to grab a soda and take a short bathroom break. During this time I pass by my friend, the security guard. He doesn't know we're pals, but I feel warm inside when I see him. This is not because he is young and attractive or suave, in all actuality he is in his early 50s, thin and tall with gray hair. All his actions are calculated and done with precision. He reads the newspaper and follows the lines of text with his finger. Every sandwich he buys from the vending machine is cut into halves. The glasses on his face and the times I've heard him speak tell me he's intelligent.

In some platonic way I've fallen in love with him. I see him as a father or uncle, loving his family deeply along with his other passions- reading, writing, and a little activism.

The only words out of my mouth to this man have been a muffled "hi". Maybe someday I'll tell him how I feel. Or maybe I'll just ask what story he's reading in the newspaper.