The courageous
He looked cold, everyone looked cold. It wasn't so much as written across foreheads as an unwilling consciousness that seeped between bodies of people withdrawn within themselves.
He was selling on the corner, though it was plain he wanted to be elsewhere, doing something else. No one was buying any of his chestnuts despite his discouraged attempts at calling out his wares, and no one appeared to want to buy any. I didn't really want to buy any either.
When he fumbled for change for my fifty-dollar note in his bulging black bum-bag, I said I would come back, having originally wanted something from just up the street. He seemed a little surprised when I did, and a hint of a smile tugged the edge of his lips - his face was frozen, not just from the cold - but he kept the tiny paperbag warm whilst I fumbled through my change.
Parting smiles dispersed by the wind, swallowed by the movement and flurry of people all busy wanting to be elsewhere, as if there were not time to breathe.
Posted by sniffles at May 30, 2002 09:44 AM