The Vigilante

I saw an old man with a tweed jacket, comb-over and walking cane this morning, angrily tearing down the posters stuck up on every available wall and telegraph pole in the city.

He tore with the vim and vigour of a man half his age, deftly using his cane to rend and tear the illegal atrocities from the streets of his beloved city. Bundles of paper, and miles of tangled sticky tape, all came down, and were tucked under one arm.

I immediately had great respect and admiration for this vigilante. I wanted to run over and give him a high five, and if it felt appropriate at the time, give him a vigilante man-hug.

Respect.