An early morning in 1978.......

Waking on the floor to the first light comes easier when you don’t remember where you are or how you got there. You scrounge around for something yours but there is nothing. Cell phones, wallets, and rings of keys would come later. Your backpack of textbooks is back at the two-flat and you know that upon returning there is much to cram for before Monday’s exam.


Stepping over those who require more encouragement, you head for the door. The early fresh air hits your face and soon it’s a race for the alley to ease the pressure. With one hand on the brick wall he wavers from stumble to support, to memory, as he begins to revisit the last 12 hours of movement in his life. Forget it for now, as someone approaches, and now is all he has.

Old, grey, and hungry he was. Not much to say, not even a beg. Awkward for some but he felt at ease, numbed from the chill and percussion in his head from a night lost. They walked for blocks, speaking very little, until reaching the greasy diner brought a smile to his cracked lips.

Spotting the student and streetwise mentor she warmed to the moment. Placing water and cutlery on the counter she poised on her hip, order pad and pencil at the ready, and smiled. She was too old for him but he pretended that they would run away together. Like a liberal professor she appreciated the effort. “Two specials and coffee,” he uttered, as he finally accepted the reality of the moment.

After wiping the last of the greasy plate with the cut triangle of toast the old man began to gather himself and respond to the assortment of unanswered questions he had been asked. And as the sun climbed and the concrete welcomed the walkers and stalkers common to the city, the old man spoke at length about what he had seen and felt in his life up to this moment, commencing at birth. He spoke of children and women, jobs and parents, travel and rest, bank accounts and empty pockets.

The old man was a colorful sort of character whose canvas had gone pale.


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