Mr. Lester

mrlesterAs the elevator doors open and I exit with my bike, I see him, morning after morning, playing the piano at the train station, his hat on the top of it for donations. Good morning, Mr. Lester, I say, sometimes stopping, sometimes not. In the time since I first met him, so many things have been added to the plaza — just this week, three Little Free Libraries appeared — but one important presence which has not changed is Mr. Lester. I entered a photo I took of him to Mayor Reed’s photo contest (“what I love about Atlanta”). The winner gets to travel around with the mayor for a day to see what it’s like. If my photo got chosen, I was gonna’ ask if I could bring Mr. Lester. But then the protests happened, and that guy hanged himself in Piedmont Park. And I don’t know who, if anyone, won.

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