The man with one arm
Out of nowhere, I just remembered about something that used to happen on my walk home from school. On my way back along the high street during the summer months where it wasn't completely dark at half past three, there was an old man who was almost always making his way slowly in the opposite direction, out for a walk with his cane at the same time each day. He was bald on top but with a ring of hair still clinging to the sides of his head, and always wore a faded blue-green jacket - but the most striking thing about him was that he only had one arm! His right-hand sleeve was empty, always tucked into the pocket of his jacket so that it didn't hang loose, so firmly that I wonder if he had had it sewn there.
After a couple of journeys, we began to recognize each other - "Hello", he would say, and I would return the greeting, and we'd pass each other, and that was the entire extent of our conversation daily. When one of my friends came home with me at one point and we had passed with the usual brief exchange, my friend asked him who he was, and I had to say I didn't really know. "Just a dude?" he asked - and that was as good a description as I could come up with. I still only know of him as "the man with one arm".
Just a thought. He must have been dead for years now.