And I never offered him a cigar.

How can I miss someone I’ve never met?  I never knew his name, his homeland, his nationality, his language, his line of work, his marital status, his age, his likes and dislikes in music, his favorite food, his dog’s name, his penchant for always smiling and saying hello at 5 a.m. as I rounded the corner of his apartment while taking Flo out for her walk while he was tossing a ball to his hulk of a black dog that never once looked to tussle with Flo (an 18 lb. poodle mix who has the temperament of a rabid wolf when confronted with another four legged creature), his affinity for ink-black  motorcycles, his height, his favorite food, his brand of cigarettes, (In fact, I never even thought of offering him a cigar.),  what he likes to read, what his talents and skills are, his line of work, does he like to travel, where he was going to move to next, if he liked beer, wine or hard liquor or nothing alcoholic at all, his taste in women, does he like living in the United States, what he likes to watch on the telly and what shows he’d never miss, does he stay up late or go to bed early, did he contract COVID or any of the many viruses that are skimming the air searching for a place to land, did he have a car?  I have so many other questions that will forever go unanswered.  And now when I make my left turn with Flo in the darkness of 5 a.m. there’s nothing there.  Nothing.  Only silence.  A few shards of frozen feces.  A back of an apartment.  An empty space magnified by the closed curtain.  No movement.  Inside or out.  Nothing.  A chance to make a friend was tossed away – like the ball to his dog that never bothered Flo.