As I sit here on a summer afternoon I notice a man walking down the sidewalk. As he approached, he saw the empty chairs outside the cafe and sat down. This man, maybe in his 60s, looked like he had a rough couple days. Clothes in dirt, hair undone, holding a paper bag with what looked liked a bottle inside. One can assume this man was homeless. Who knew for how long, or where his story began.
As I continue to type away on my laptop I notice a second man approaching me. Riding his bicycle down the same sidewalk, he too saw the empty chairs and slowed down. Leaned his bicycle against the building and took a seat. This second man also appeared to be in his 60s, but unlike the first, he looked clean and put together. His bicycle gear presented him as an active and healthy type as he sat there catching his breath.
A bizarre scene I must admit. Only a few feet away, I sit here observing the two old men siting across from me. Two separate lives, two separate minds, yet their paths crossed in this moment in time. I feel the need to jump up and ask. To ask their name, their story. To ask their thoughts on life and how they got to where they are now. Yet I remain silent, only wondering how much time is passing me by.
I now feel the summer breeze against my face as the two men get up. They go their separate ways and I awake from this paralyzed state, confused. A moment has passed, but a question arises. Where will I be in 30 years? Will I be like the man with the bottle, or the man on the bike.
