Becky slowed her jog and paused to check her smartphone. Text message. From Steph. Boy troubles. Hold on jog, brb. Becky's thumbs tapped the HD screen faster than her feet had ever moved on pavement.
Phil had been napping lightly in his wicker chair. He was in the middle of a dream when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps on pavement. He cracked open his eyes and spotted a young joggette at the foot of his driveway. Hold on nap, brb. The old man reached for his pipe and in one fluid motion struck a match and exhaled a puff of smoke.
Birds chirped in the trees, leaves danced in the breeze, the sun played peek-a-boo with the clouds. It was truly the perfect kind of day to be on the yoga pants prowl. It was the perfect day to be an octogenarian named Phil.
Phil sat there watching the tender young thing switch her weight back and forth from leg to leg with each outgoing text. He nibbled on his pipe and grinned.
A soft breeze blew across the yard. Phil manufactured a fat smoke ring with his lips and blew it across the yard. The ring hovered over the girl like a halo before dispersing.
Becky was now sitting indian style on Phil's front lawn, textity texting away. Phil was perplexed by today's textually active generation. He soon grew restless however, and got up from his chair. Phil lumbered into his garage with a wrinkled smirk on his face and a youthful sparkle in his eye.
The sweet spiced aroma from Phil's pipe still lingered in the air. It reminded Becky of her grandfather.
Moments later the sprinkler system went off, sending jets of water all over the lawn. Becky screamed surprisedly and sprang to her feet.
Phil poked his head out of the garage and laughed as the girl sprinted away. He continued to chuckle as he reached down to check his phone. He had a new text message. It was from his new ladyfriend he had been seeing as of late, her name was Steph. He read the message.
Phil, we need to talk :-/
Ugh. Phil rolled his eyes.
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