walking home

The weather was nice and warm on my walk home from work tonight. Many people were out, and I chose to take a more populated route along a busy street; perhaps because I was planning to spend my evening alone in my room, writing. The juxtaposition appealed to me.
I found myself walking behind a couple holding hands. I settled into the rhythm of their footsteps, about 20 feet behind them, rather than keeping my pace and passing them. They held the sidewalk between them, walking widely and then closely, varying their distance. The man had the collar of his polo shirt turned up, a current sign of a cavalier attitude among those that own many polo shirts. They were both young, twenty at the oldest, and they seemed carefree and worriless to me. They appeared perfectly comfortable in the affluent neighborhood, as though it matched them perfectly.
As we walked, I noticed that I passed a home on my right that seemed to house the elderly. A large complex, I often saw old folks watering a garden or lounging on portable chair-frames with wheels on the far side of it, when walking through the adjacent park.
It was dark out, but the long walk leading up to the front entrance of the building was lit from below by lights lining the walkway. At the far end from me, I noticed a figure in shadow, sitting. I saw wheels underneath the sitting figure, but it did not seem to be a wheelchair; likely one of the chair-frames that double as walkers that I've seen before. The figure sat there alone, far from the street, but with a clear view of it. I noticed no movement.
I passed, and the figure passed, and I hastened my gait and passed the couple in front of me, surprising them briefly as I walked around from the street side.
It was strange to me to think that I felt more in common with the lone figure sitting on that walk than I felt with the two young lovers I saw on the street.