a little human contact

Richard has an application on his I-Phone telling him what kind of fish is safe to purchase, which ones to avoid due to high levels of mercury, that it's best to get them 'young' and where they should all be coming from. Apparently Thailand is not the best option.

Richard is 71. A bachelor. He wears carefully selected plaid button ups and khaki pants with his boating shoes...sock less. He lives on a boat and is the epitome of an Annapolitan, except for the fact that he looks you right in the eye when talking to you. Not to mention he speaks to you as if you're his oldest and most dear friend. He smiles displaying a sweet set of pearly whites which peer out between a salt and pepper beard.

And around 9pm on a Tuesday night, Richard and I stand next to a row of frozen fish packages discussing our love of Sockeye Salmon, how the checkers at Giant feel robotic, the beauty of Fall, and how sometimes you just want to talk to someone and share a little human contact.

He makes me smile while commenting on the classic nature of a name like Elizabeth. His first wife was 'Liz the Whiz.'

And as we shake hands and part he thanks me for simply taking the time to talk:

"It seems so rare these days that we should take a moment to stop and share with one another, even if about nothing at all. But sometimes, you just need to."

Sometimes you just need to.