Why the disheveled man approached me rather than someone else I couldn’t say. It was a recent chilly Wednesday evening and I had pulled my beret down over my ears.
The man wanted to know if the 54 would stop at our corner, something I easily confirmed with a glance at the bus departures board. He lingered after I answered; it seemed he wanted something more.
“Name’s Kevin,” he said, offering his hand, which I took.
“Nice to meet you.”
I pulled my bike bag a little closer.
“Know who you remind me of?” Continue reading