He was just another ragged homeless man on a park bench to most of the employed (and housed) people hurrying past him. Staring at his feet. His downcast eyes giving him the appearance of a sleeper. But he was actually quite awake. I stopped in my tracks, and he suddenly lifted his white bearded face. Then he greeted me with a grin.
"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose," he said, in a clear low voice. "A whiskey-voiced lady blues singer made those words famous. But a drunken poet had to write them down on a napkin first." Then he returned to staring at his worn and tattered shoes for a moment, until his wise blue eyes gradually closed. He had nothing more to say, and was done with me. I was being dismissed.
I just stood there. Stunned and speechless.
Essay © 2008 by Dylan Mitchell
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