Man with a Cane

The man at the bar walked with a cane, or he sat with it rather, only actually walking twice all night, when he made his trips to the bathroom, three times counting when he left, four counting when he arrived, which he must have, though I wasn’t there to see it. The cane that he kept with him as he sat and as he occasionally walked was not one of the new, medically approved kind that support the body according to principles of physiology.  It was one of the old wooden kind, and it only came up just above his knee, so he leaned slightly as he walked, his arm straightened into an extension of the cane, both of them pressed against his rigid leg, forcing him to bend, shuffling and hunched and painful.

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