Strider strolled into the lobby of an apartment building on the west side of San Jose. He caught a glimpse of an old man disappearing into the stairway. Strider smirked to himself and followed, calling up as the guy took slow steps, with grocery bags in each hand. “Hey, old man, get the hell out of my way.”
He yelled, “f**k you, asshole.”
Strider reached for a bag. “Can I carry one, Grandpa?”
“Then you’ll displace my balance. Are you trying to make me fall so you can have your inheritance?” He huffed. “Can’t talk as I take the stairs.”
Strider coached him. “You can do it, Grandpa. I’m proud of you for not taking the elevator.” He rushed ahead to open the door at the fourth floor and used his key at Grandpa’s door. Inside the apartment, after Grandpa caught his breath, they shook hands.
