Being Neighborly

One of my favorite neighbors is a man in his early 60s who lives a  half-block south of me in Fort Greene. I only see him on Sunday mornings, when he spends a few hours washing, drying, and polishing his car by hand, while his dog -- a beautifully even-tempered Pomeranian, keeps a happy, watchful eye on him and everyone walking by. He always wears the same uniform: a long sleeved white dress shirt and a crisp white newsboy style cap. Seems impossible that anyone could look crisp, cool, and comfortable while so clearly engaged in what should be sweat-inducing manual labor, but he always appears to be just that. "Dapper" describes him well.

Every time I see him and wave good morning, I imagine his story. Is he a chauffer? A musician? He's a quietly cheerful guy, but the shy, introverted side of my personality comes out whenever I pause to say hello; I don't know how to make small talk, so have never asked his name. All of my questions are just imagining. I should fix that.

Has the makings of a good homework assignment...