He's too young to have tattoos but he's rocking the vintage leather jacket with self-done spikes. His dark blonde hair falls at his shoulders. He and his friends are leaving the coffee shop as I'm about to walk in. He notices me, lets his friends leave before him, and quickens his pace so he can hold the door for me.
"Here you are, Miss." He says politely.
I thank him.
Honestly, I hate most teenagers. Even when I was one I despised them. My inner militant feminist doesn't need doors held for her either.
Still, it is so hard to keep your sweetness in this world. I know I say that a lot. Hell, there have been years where I walked through life immune to human warmth. It's pretty sad considering how young 27 is.
But I hope the "damn the man" mentality of the punk scene won't make him bitter once he really understands what it means. I hope he doesn't have to fight too hard to keep the sweetness that gets him excited to hold doors for strangers. Most importantly, I hope he grows into the kind of man that still does that kind of thing. They are few and far between from what I've seen thus far.
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