Change Purse

Something about him reminded me of Dad.  (OK, more than one.)  The white hair.  The walking gait of a short-legged man.  The way he talked to me without really making eye contact.  The pleasant look on his face.  The slow Southern drawl.  I was drawn to him immediately.

And I realized that when he came to the register to pay, I completely expected him to pull a plastic change purse full of coins from his pocket.

I was a little disappointed, actually, when he didn't.

Because Dad would have.