I believe he was a sage. In my life, anyway. A kindergarten school bus driver he had round jowls, thick glasses, and was smoking behind the school.
“Lousy,” I said to him, reaching for his lighter. “I feel like Sysiphus, going to work every day, dissatisfied for no real reason, you know. Wife’s busy too; we hardly make love.”
“What? Me?” The pyramids unaccountably popped into my mind.
“A fellow can always be moving towards who he wants to be, even if he’s not there.”
“Like builders? Maybe I’m constructing my way. I guess it does take patience.”