When I was a kid, my dad had a theory that you should never walk around with your hands in your pockets.
He was quite a story teller and many a tale had misfortune woven into it via a man rendered helpless by trapped hands.
One day while going up a restaurant stairwell on a family evening out to dinner. A guy came up behind us and sort of "cut us off" and entered the stairwell first.
|The free handed man in the danger sign above is far better off than our poor protagonist|
His hands planted firmly into his Dockers and sleeves of his silver Members Only jacket pushed up to his elbows as he clip-clopped by.
|Toady a Members' Only jacket is vintage cool; in 1983 it meant you were a dork like this guy.|
He was also whistling (my dad had many many theories about people who whistle, mostly that they are full of themselves ) he made it to the top step, tripped and rolled all the way down like a kid rolling down a grassy hill and landed at our feet.
His hands never came out of his pockets.
He pulled one hand free when he landed to help himself up and then re-pocketed it and whistled off.
It was like my dad's imagination suddenly materialized in front of us.