wet pants

Roberto.

Walked out of the hallway. 

Dressed in black. 

Top to bottom. 

The logo of a dog's yellow pawprint.

Splashed. 

On the front. 

Of his long-sleeved work shirt. 

His shoes were shined.

His apron draped. 
Carefully.

Over his bent arm.

And his smile was bright.

Off to work? 

I questioned. 
His attire the obvious answer.

Yeah. 

But,I didn't give myself time to dry my pants. 

He laughed.

I stared at him.

Confused.

Well. 

He continued.

He ran a hand down the thigh of his left leg.

These pants are soaking wet. 

Seriously?

I snorted.

Yeah.

They are completely wet. 

He said.
As a matter-of-fact.

I smirked.

And furrowed my brows. 

I didn't know how to respond.

So I didn't.

Roberto.

My son.

The kid who is full of life.

With a go-with-the-flow kind of attitude.

Walked out the front door.

Love you. 

He yelled.

Love you, too. 

I called after him.