There was a little pony toy in the middle of the road. It was blue, scuffed up a bit and looked to have formerly been fuzzy and soft. And it was there, just sitting there, staring coldly at Chester like a beggar. What tragedy befell the owner of that toy? The garbage trucks chugged around the street corner and plowed through the streets every Tuesday. Perhaps this Tuesday, they didn’t slow for the school zone. The world does that sometimes. Chester pried his eyes away from the sad story he figured must have happened, and he continued on his walk.

    He shuffled by the school, the baseball fields, and the singular tennis court before he began upon a church. It stood wonky, with its steeple tilted left, point towards the sky. The entire thing, it occurred to Chester, was old and run-down. Abused, if you will. Below that steeple, many people dressed in jeans and t-shirts were gathered outside. That was probably why the church looked so poorly; why would they care about the appearance of the building if they didn’t care about their own? Back in his day, that would never have been tolerated. Chester sighed and looked down, and he continued on his walk.

    Beyond the church a couple blocks sat a park, and in the park sat a woman. Chester squinted to recognize the woman, whose eyes were red with minute-old tears. She was his neighbor, and in her hand, he noticed her clutching a letter. Chester quickly looked away. Her husband was in the military; he was killed on his first tour, probably. Chester glanced back towards her just in time for her to look up. To his amazement, she was smiling ear-to-ear.

    “Brian, it’s time to go.” The woman called over her shoulder. Her boy came over with his head down.

    “You alright, love?” she asked upon seeking his sad face.

    “I lost my horse-y. The one papa gave me,” he said, kneading at the dirt with his shoe.

    “Well, I bet he can pick you up another little toy on his way back from the airport,” his mother said with bright, encouraged eyes.

    “What? Papa’s coming home?” Brian’s eyes flicked up from the hole he had dug with his now muddy shoe.

    “Yes. Yes, Brain…” His mother let out a squeak, “he’s coming home.”

    “Really!?” Brain beamed, grinning brightly.

    “Really, really. Come on, though. The church is renovating and needs help. You didn’t lose your toolbelt, now, did you?” she joked, grabbing his hand and leaving for the church.

    Chester watched as they left, his mouth slightly agape. Something about the unknown had made him assume so many wild things. He looked forward. Across the way, he saw a couple sitting on a bench and holding hands. They were both leaned forward and talking hushedly. They were about to break up, Chester was sure. How extraordinarily short lived love was; why people even attempt it, he was not sure. He continued on his walk.