By David Galef
I passed a homeless man down Division Street, his outstretched hand a leathery shovel.
On other days, I might have dropped a dollar. But I work in a library for low wages, my charity dictated by what’s in my pocket.
In other lives, I might have been that homeless man. Consider all of me out there: still struggling, already underground, or yet unborn.
On other planets, homeless men might outnumber those with homes. Am I lucky? What is luck? Proper placement?
In other universes, the concept of homelessness might not exist. These ideas come to me, often when I’m reshelving books.
Handling books will do that — send our mind a’whirling. Nice one.
Thanks, and just commented on your piece.
I like this one because it reminds me of the way that story ideas usually come to me while I am engaged in some mundane task–usually mowing the lawn or taking out the garbage. Good job, David.
Thanks, Bobby. I liked that battered guitar in “Blues.”