Cedric

There's this man named Cedric. I've known him for two days and seen more life in him than most anyone I know. Perhaps it's because he's simply lived more life. Or because he skips the hi-how-are-yous and just says it.

"Are you a dancer?" he asked me.
"I was as a little girl," I said.
He smiled. "You still got it."

This was our second and longest conversation. Do our newest friends see us the best?

He laughs more in one hour than I have in my entire life. (I laugh a lot.) Every story he tells, every story he hears, he laughs. He laughs before, after, and in between. He laughs when it isn't funny. He is tall, black, and comes from a big family. He is from the south but doesn't have a chip on his shoulder. He doesn't impress yet leaves an impression. He eats things like fruit tarts for lunch.

Who is this person? He's probably someone's grandpa. I hope he's missed where he's from.