aprilhenry (aprilhenry) wrote,
aprilhenry
aprilhenry

He who has eyes to see, let him see

For probably the last 20 years I have been running up 45th Avenue in Portland. During those decades, a man on the verge of obesity who lives on the street has stared at me. His unsmiling and seemingly lascivious stare made me feel like an object. For a few years, I entertained the idea of flipping him off. He bothered me enough that when I was writing a book set in my own neighborhood, Buried Diamonds, I put him in it.

Cut to this morning. He's grown older [Full disclosure: so have I!] With difficulty, he's pushing his garbage bin down to the curb. He's using the handle of the bin to support himself like a walker. I debate offering to help. You know old men - they hate to be helped with a physical task. I pull one of my earbuds out.

He starts the conversation before I can. "Nice day for a run."

"I'm glad it's cooled off."

"I see you running all the time. Good for you." He manages to shove the garbage bin in place. "I just had a quintuple bypass. You'll never need one."

I don't know if he's lost his fangs or if they were never there in the first place.



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