He is homeless, his address written into the deep lines of his face.  We stand face to face over the opening of a trash barrel.  I throw away a package wrapping, he digs through looking for scraps to cobble together a meal, or for redeemable cans for change.  There are band-aids all over his face.  He pays me no mind as I glance at him, wondering what broke him.  He is the kind of man I think of when people smugly say, “That which doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger”.

This man is the living, whispered argument to that quote.   The man we ignore so we can continue to believe the lie.

Should I give him a dollar?  Or would he only be insulted?  Or worse, would his wet eyes make contact with mine in gratitude?

Artwork by Crowsong

With love,

P.S. Challenge, write your own word portrait, tips are here.  Leave a comment with a link to your post.