It caught my eye. So subtle. So minor. Yet that is where the story laid hidden.
He said he was 68. He looked older. He looked worn out. The short sleeve shirt exposed a tattoo of one of the military services. Could have been Marines. It looked as if life had taken its toll. We sat waiting in the same waiting room.
After a bit he talked about lost friends. Lost chances. Hard choices. Then he got up as his name was called.
That's when I noticed it.
He wore blue jeans. But they were pressed. The crease was military. The starch was heavy. I guess some things just never change.
A Marine. Starched, creased jeans.
I found out after that he was a Vetnam vet. That he was a quiet man who had a story to tell but was  quiet about it.
Afterward I saw him and wished him well. He smiled, tipped his cap and walked on. Straight and true.
The jeans' crease told the story.
Look for the subtle.
Stories and lives are found there.


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