This morning I realized that for the past few weeks, I’ve picked the same seat on the train that I had taken when I first began my commute 25 years ago. I used to sit across from a paper salesman I knew in my hometown who always kept his day’s orders on a single sheet of paper folded in his shirt pocket. As old as he was he was still a street kid with a pair of beefy hands that could handle any problem. He would say things to people just to see the lights go on in their eyes but the smarter ones didn’t tangle with him. Yet he always watched over me like an older brother occasionally showing up at my house with cuttings from his garden for me to plant in the front of the small house we just bought.
Read the rest at View From the Ledge.
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