Mr. Hurley would wander around the McDonald’s.
In daylight, he’d repeat Jesus’ parables to passing customers.
At night, he’d ask for whatever could be spared—fries from the dollar menu would be okay.
I went there every Friday. I once made the mistake of making eye contact with him.
“When ya get a lil’ older, buy me a Big Mac, kid,” he said, flashing his green-brown teeth.
A couple of years later, he was found dead against the church entrance, clutching the strap of his signature rainbow suspenders.
I cried when it happened.
I would’ve eventually bought him a Big Mac.
Alex, I read your touching story at breakfast. I started with toast and after the first few bites, I cried and could eat no more. Thanks for having me remember.
I’m happy — and saddened — that the story had a visceral effect on you. Thank you.
sad, my friend.
Your message? Don’t put off until tommorow what you can do today. Very well delivered.
Reads like a prayer.