An old man sat on the blue bus bench. His teeth looked gnawed to half their size on his lower jaw. When he spoke, which was often to anyone, he sputtered.
(By Eve Hinson, originally from My Journal: Oct, 2012)
His hands made large gestures that interfered with passerby’s personal space. They walked around him with a considerable swathe of avoidance. I judged his appearance for a moment, needing to sit on that bench and wait for my bus, and realized he wasn’t combative and, when I could understand him, he was trying to make conversation. Sure, it wasn’t the usual pleasantries, but I sat and listened.
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