Everyone is traveling the fast lane.
I'm stuck at the last pit stop, still trying to change my tire.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Warmth
I walked hurriedly, attempting to break winter's frigid grasp.
"Spare some change?" a man asked, obligatory paper cup in hand.
I walked pass him, but I felt a twinge in my chest.
Guilt?
Perhaps.
Who knows how long the man had been standing there. Asking for change from people rushing to find shelter from the cold and from people in their cars. Did he even have a roof over his head for the night?
I felt troubled. I wanted to do something more than just give him a penny, nickel or dime.
"Subway" I thought to myself.
I walked in.
"Welcome, what can I get you?" asked the man behind the counter.
"What soups do you have?"
"I have chicken noodle and cream of broccoli." he sang out. I didn't believe it either, but the man behind the counter in a sing-song voice sang out "cream of broccoli."
"Chicken noodle."
The man packaged my soup and handed it to me. I took the bag, and headed back to the corner where I passed the first man.
He didn't realize I was behind him, he was focused on the cars waiting for the light, asking for change. The drivers shook their heads one by one, but the man never faltered. He saw me standing there on the corner and approached me.
"Spare some change?"
I looked at his face. A white beard, wrinkles showing how jaded he is. I lifted the soup.
"I know it is not much, but here is a soup. Chicken noodle."
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his tone lifted as he reached for the bag.
"Oh! Thank you brother." He said.
"Enjoy and keep warm." I replied.
"Thank you brother." He said again. It felt different the second time around. It was filled with honest sincerity.
I didn't look back as I walked away. I just hoped that my little gift of a small chicken noodle soup would provide momentary warmth for someone in the cold.
I knew one thing for sure. Hearing honest sincerity from a complete stranger for such a small gift makes a frigid night seem less cold.
"Spare some change?" a man asked, obligatory paper cup in hand.
I walked pass him, but I felt a twinge in my chest.
Guilt?
Perhaps.
Who knows how long the man had been standing there. Asking for change from people rushing to find shelter from the cold and from people in their cars. Did he even have a roof over his head for the night?
I felt troubled. I wanted to do something more than just give him a penny, nickel or dime.
"Subway" I thought to myself.
I walked in.
"Welcome, what can I get you?" asked the man behind the counter.
"What soups do you have?"
"I have chicken noodle and cream of broccoli." he sang out. I didn't believe it either, but the man behind the counter in a sing-song voice sang out "cream of broccoli."
"Chicken noodle."
The man packaged my soup and handed it to me. I took the bag, and headed back to the corner where I passed the first man.
He didn't realize I was behind him, he was focused on the cars waiting for the light, asking for change. The drivers shook their heads one by one, but the man never faltered. He saw me standing there on the corner and approached me.
"Spare some change?"
I looked at his face. A white beard, wrinkles showing how jaded he is. I lifted the soup.
"I know it is not much, but here is a soup. Chicken noodle."
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his tone lifted as he reached for the bag.
"Oh! Thank you brother." He said.
"Enjoy and keep warm." I replied.
"Thank you brother." He said again. It felt different the second time around. It was filled with honest sincerity.
I didn't look back as I walked away. I just hoped that my little gift of a small chicken noodle soup would provide momentary warmth for someone in the cold.
I knew one thing for sure. Hearing honest sincerity from a complete stranger for such a small gift makes a frigid night seem less cold.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
a generic break up
Indulge me in my little request.
A glass of gin -dry,
a period of silence, accented by my self misery.
A sip, a toast. To my once beating heart which bled for you. To your soft lips that I kissed.
A gulp. fill it back up.
Another sip. Another toast.To the empty seat across from me. To the extra space in my bed.
Maybe I should play a sad song on my radio.
Or maybe have another sip, another toast.
A glass of gin -dry,
a period of silence, accented by my self misery.
A sip, a toast. To my once beating heart which bled for you. To your soft lips that I kissed.
A gulp. fill it back up.
Another sip. Another toast.To the empty seat across from me. To the extra space in my bed.
Maybe I should play a sad song on my radio.
Or maybe have another sip, another toast.
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