Just singing

guitarman.jpgHe was bathed in morning sunlight, and I stopped to listen to him sing. He never looked over at me, but I think he knew I was there. I saw he had backpacks, the tell-tale sign of homelessness, and he was very tan — it has been hot here; he has been outdoors. He was strumming with a plastic card — an old credit card perhaps? I don’t know. We never spoke. I looked for a hat, for some place to leave a buck. But there wasn’t one, so I just left it at that. He was just singing. Just singing.


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