CarrollBlog

The well dressed, very old man scrapes snow off the roof of the car and starts to pat it between big bare hands into a snowball. The work is slow and careful. He watches his hands intently. It's plain he has done this many times over the course of his lifetime. But now his tools are rusty and awkward. They can no longer do the happy work with the speed and assurance they once possessed. I'm watching him work through the passenger's window of a car, hoping that he won't see me. When he finishes, the snowball is almost perfectly round, perfectly made. Only then does he look up at the world, his eyes as bright and hopeful as any naughty boy's. He looks around for something, or even better someone, to throw it at.