He went every day at the same time, after his early afternoon nap, when the apartment building returned to life with the voices of children and television sets. He took his time, always took his time. He greeted everyone who passed him in the halls; he greeted everyone who passed him on the sidewalk. He greeted the shopkeeper, whose name he couldn't pronounce.
She stood in the window, looking the same, in the dress, always there, always waiting, just like she had been the day they'd married all those years ago. He wouldn't linger long: best not to bother her.