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The Walking Man wound his way around the corner and nearly wound up wounding a toddling child with his careless gait. He turned to apologize, but the child didn't notice and stood babbling to himself and anyone who would listen, a tiny prophet speaking in a tongue that everyone had forgotten.
He was simple, and he was happy, his face smeared with the obvious remains of a decadent ice cream cone. Definitely chocolate, definitely with sprinkles. He waved his arms wildly, but there was obviously some message to it. Not sign language, just body language. He suffered from fits of giggles.
His mother sighed heavily and tried to grab his hand, to protect him from traffic and strangers and stray dogs, but he escaped her grasp with his wily two-year-old tricks and continued to gesticulate and babble excitedly.
It was clear that no one understood him at all; faces all around read as though their owners were watching a film in a foreign language they didn't speak. When he met another chocolate-faced tyke, though, his excited gestures and bubbly babbling were met with more of the same. There was synergy and a deep connection.
The Walking Man struggled to understand the language of children that even he once spoke. Bits and pieces came back, and he chased a smile across his own face. He watched more and understood more. All around there was wonder, all around there was surprise.
So the Walking Man decided it was time to move on, to experience more of the wonder around him in a fresh light. He babbled to himself, quietly, and crossed the street.
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Walking Man 6