They were a small, old couple. Every day they delivered the mail and picked up their groceries.

The old man’s smile stretched from ear to ear across his white beard. He had round, wire-framed glasses and wore the same outfit every day – a dirt-stained white T-shirt, tucked into black work pants over a beer belly.

The old woman looked not much younger than her husband. A yellow shirt brightened her sandy white hair and khakis. She smiled with her eyes, genuine with pronounced laugh lines. She wore her smile, a smile only someone who had lived and seen life could give, with wisdom.

They said they just needed their pop and lunch, but knowing they came to my register with a cart full of groceries, they laughed. I laughed along with them while I rang their groceries one by one. They bickered amongst themselves, but they weren't angry. “I hope I’m like them when I’m old,” I thought. They didn’t say much, but they were happy and in love.

“Seventy-five and thirty-two cents,” I said. They handed me the money, and I knew they would be back tomorrow.