Archive for the 'old men' Category



on the subway

I’ve seen them before. They are old and weathered and small. He has the permanent grin of a village idiot, even his eyes smile. She is stern, stares back at me, officiously rearranges the contents of her purse.

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near the waterfront

In Greenpoint, inside a fenced lot, a weathered man in a stained jacket sat on an overturned milkcrate. His hands kept pace with his voice as he talked intently, in Polish, to a single mesermized pigeon.

on the corner

Today I wore striped tights. All the men in the projects I cut through had things to say about that.

All but this one. He was on the corner behind the drugstore with a pile of paper in his hand. He looked at his shoes. He looked at the sky. His face was ruddy and creased with time. As I got closer, he looked away and sang out softly, “Boycott Walgreen’s.” I stopped and asked what was going on. He handed me a sheet of paper. He whispered, always looking away, “They’re not fair.”

May 1

In the hallway by the elevators in my office, I saw a man who was short and wide and crooked and hunched. His face was soft and pained, he carried his difficulties in his eyes.