They walked slowly, the few steps from the front door to the corner. Slowly, because he was shuffling with his head down, watching for obstacles in the sidewalk. She was holding his arm with two hands for support. His support, not hers.
They stood and waited. Strands of her flyaway gray hair lifted in a breeze, not unattractively, as she fussed with him. He looked a bit anxious. Facing each other, she checked his shirt collar, his buttons, brushed his shoulders, her hands fluttering nervously. Then they clasped hands and waited some more.
The bus arrived, the door opened. He moved forward reaching for the hand rail. As his foot planted on the first step, wobbling a bit, she tugged slightly on his arm. Holding the rail, he turned halfway back and bent over to share a lingering kiss.
She watched intently as he paid his fare and groped his way to a seat. Through the window, he could see her, peering over his glasses with a nod and half-smile. She waved and blew more kisses as the driver pulled away. She watched the bus all the way down the street until it turned a corner. A suddenly solitary figure.
Lately meeting, recently moving in together. They may be old but new love is always young.