There he was, sitting by the curb, with a little cup in front of him. Well, sitting is not the right word. He was on his knees, with his arms extended, palms pressed together. He was from Romania, said the cardboard sign in front of him.
I pulled him up and asked him to come with me. I was going to the coffee shop anyway. Here we are now, I’m blogging away, and he, Hristo, seems to like brownies. He’s already had three of them, and a huge caffe latte.
But, soon, we’ll have to go. I have to go to a hockey game, and he back to work.