Bernie and Gladys were the geriatric equivalent of two ships that passed in the night though, in point of fact, it was broad daylight and neither of these two “vessels’ took the slightest notice one of the other.
To be fair, it wasn’t an intentional snub on either of their parts, merely an unfortunate consequence of the inevitable passage of time. After all, Bernie didn’t see so good anymore and Gladys, well…she spent more time wandering about in the dusty passages of her own mind than she did interacting with the real world these days.
They’d met at the Belvedere Hotel ballroom on New Years’ Eve, 1920 and, with Prohibition looming in the foreseeable future, danced and drank the night away, like the young upstarts they were, before parting ways to never meet again.
It was a waste of truly delicious irony that neither of the two would have understood or much cared they had lived out their entire lives alone, unwed and unloved and yet only a mere six blocks apart.
This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction flash fiction prompt: shadows.