His Glasses

The glasses seemed to be on a very short leash. Almost snug under his adam’s apple, nestled there signalling the need to wear glasses, but hiding how exactly they could be put on. A stout, rubberish lead – or maybe something synthetic – joins each temple, wending over shoulder and across the nape, discrete in its dull dark greyness. With practised unconsidered movement each side of the frame is grasped (or was it the bridge?), twisted and the glasses become two, monocular in a moment of disarray. Then similarly snapped lock stepped magnetically into place upon his nose. There was something shyly surprising and eccentric inside this minor piece.