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Once we met a man who looked hardened and aged by the streets. He had been drinking and was singing old songs. Nicks, my sister, started playing her guitar in time. Unsure to his response, I was weary.
The kindness the old man showed will stay with me forever. He shared everything and was offended if we did not. If we came back to that area, he would give us food or blankets despite being in a stupor, he would remember us.
He never asked and he never told, the closest he would get was to say we were too young. We never knew his name or story.
I went back to this area, the other week and I sat in the old stand. I thought I'd wait for him. He wasn't there. I just wonder where his story went.