Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Love Letter: The Stranger, Mr. Broom
Dear Mr. Broom,
I walk to work very early in the morning while it's still a quiet dove-grey no-mans-land. There are very few sounds: my boots, the jingle of a dog collar, the mumblings of birds--
and your broom.
I walk past you, hunched over with a blue baseball cap and loved khakis, examining the state of the pavement. You diligently sweep the sidewalk, caring for the curb with a grimy plastic dustpan in hand. Leaves and cigarette butts are coaxed in and sandwich wrappers gingerly plucked.
I feel better knowing that you're around. That someone notices. That someone takes care of the things I'd never think to.