The Old Man on a Mission
On that cloudy afternoon, while families splashed in the water and kids built sandcastles, one old man had no time for nonsense. His stride was long, his sneakers squeaked with authority, and his arms pumped like pistons. This was no leisurely beach stroll. No, sir. He was a man with a mission . Some said he was headed to the pier to confront the seagull that had stolen his sandwich last summer. Others swore he was trying to beat his personal best for the "Beachfront Speed-Walk Championship," a competition nobody but him knew existed. But the truth was simpler, and far more urgent: The ice cream truck was circling the parking lot, and this old warrior wasn’t about to let a bunch of toddlers beat him to the last drumstick cone. Every wrinkle on his determined face said the same thing: “Get out of my way, I’m fueled by prune juice and spite.” By the time he reached the boardwalk, kids were still fumbling for quarters, parents digging through purses. But not him. Exact c...