[why do most of my stories start like this?] Last night at the bar I stepped outside to cool off from the karaoke, drinking and ambient temperature in there. As I was mulling over the day's events, such as the turmoil at work, self-doubt, and what to say next for my toast [reciting the lines from Hitch, Never lie, steal, cheat, or drink. But if you must lie, lie in the arms of the one you love. If you must steal, steal away from bad company. If you must cheat, cheat death. And if you must drink, drink in the moments that take your breath away.] when an older man peddled up in a black painted bicycle. Assumingly homeless.
He completely ignored my prescene by focusing on his task. He withdrew from his pocket a severely worn and folded Lay's potato chip bag. He started sifting through the ashtray to find half-done cigarettes. I quietly watched him finish. He looked up at me so we met eyes. I greeted him...
"Good evening," I quipped.
"Good evening," he replied.
"Got everything you wanted?"
Through a bleak smile, and resting on his bicycle, "Yeah."
"Want a couple bucks?" I asked. I removed the last couple dollars in my wallet.
He peered at my now-empty-wallet. "Those are your last dollars."
I shrugged my shoulders, "It appears so. But I can get more. You need it more than I do, so here you go." I handed it over and he quickly stuffed both his Lay's bag and money into his pocket.
"I'm humbled by your gift, thank you," he says graciously and breaking eye contact.
"I'm humbled by the act of giving the gift," I retorted.
With those words, he peddled off into the night as quickly as he appeared. Thinking back on it, I believe my Mom visited me! Or at the very least, a messenger from Mom.
Instead of finishing my drink in the bar, I decided to drink that one moment I shared with the nameless man on the bike. I challenge you to do the same. This has been your C Note. 'los; out
He completely ignored my prescene by focusing on his task. He withdrew from his pocket a severely worn and folded Lay's potato chip bag. He started sifting through the ashtray to find half-done cigarettes. I quietly watched him finish. He looked up at me so we met eyes. I greeted him...
"Good evening," I quipped.
"Good evening," he replied.
"Got everything you wanted?"
Through a bleak smile, and resting on his bicycle, "Yeah."
"Want a couple bucks?" I asked. I removed the last couple dollars in my wallet.
He peered at my now-empty-wallet. "Those are your last dollars."
I shrugged my shoulders, "It appears so. But I can get more. You need it more than I do, so here you go." I handed it over and he quickly stuffed both his Lay's bag and money into his pocket.
"I'm humbled by your gift, thank you," he says graciously and breaking eye contact.
"I'm humbled by the act of giving the gift," I retorted.
With those words, he peddled off into the night as quickly as he appeared. Thinking back on it, I believe my Mom visited me! Or at the very least, a messenger from Mom.
Instead of finishing my drink in the bar, I decided to drink that one moment I shared with the nameless man on the bike. I challenge you to do the same. This has been your C Note. 'los; out
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