It’s been given to me to make a change in someone else’s life. Someone I didn’t know but who felt like I should have. He was sitting on a bench, today, and contact juggling, with a glass ball and a hat between his paint splattered boots, singing to himself. I walked by, and then stopped, and went back to sit by him, to look at him, to wonder at him.
And then when he had given over the stories he holds, the stories of his life, how he had been raised by a Nazi, gone homeless by choice, followed bands and avoided drugs, helped people when he could and called the gypsies his own people – a wanderer – then I gave over what I could, and heard the words shouted behind me as I left him.
“Love!”
But I’m not sure what they meant.
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