He was kicking rocks in the yard with his body slumped forward, as if his whole focus was his foot's favourite task. Normally, I would be insane to suggest that he was kicking up the same rocks that he kicked yesterday, but today he walks in the exact same circle where I first noticed him crying. He doesn’t cry today. He has the same shirt on, but the suit trousers that matched are now replaced with basketball shorts, and I don’t think they are a reaction to the sun. When a man loses his job, every small routine forgets itself, and today his normal appearance has been forgotten. Why wear clothes at all if you’re no longer employed to appear competent? If he had fashion in mind, the idea of a complimentary basketball cap would at least protect his burning neck. The rocks have now found their new position for the day. And he’s crying… again. That’s the natural reaction for when life kicks you in the teeth. He’s fallen to his knees today. Maybe the sobbing to peeping neighbours in the surrounding flats, to his mind, was too hard to notice. Surely with all this rolling around, he must be missing his trousers by now. I can see rocks stuck to his knees. Maybe he’s hoping for intervention? But I’m not a peeping neighbour that’s willing to intervene. Maybe I should lean over the balcony and shout down to him and tell him exactly that. It might stop the crying? Who am I? What am I thinking? How did I get onto that? I’ve got some of my own sobbing to attend to.