Member-only story

If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking

I shall not live in vain

John P. Weiss
Personal Growth

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He always parked his dilapidated Mazda many blocks away, beyond the downtown meters, to save what little money he had.

His equipment was heavy, and he had to lug it all the way back to the business district. The weight and strain aggravated his lower back, already weak from aging and a bulging disc he could not afford to repair.

Some of the equipment rested on a small cart with wheels that he carefully navigated over potholes, debris, and sidewalks. The rest, stuffed inside two large backpacks, he carried as the straps bit deep into his shoulders.

Passing motorists and pedestrians sometimes shouted profanities at him. Others crossed the street to avoid him. They thought he was one of those homeless or mentally ill who wandered the city, busking or begging.

He endured this ritual every Christmas season because once he made it downtown and set up his holiday poetry stand, people saw him differently.

He’d wear a Santa hat with a scarf, arrange little sheets of onion paper and envelopes, and begin plinking away on an old typewriter. He looked like a character from Charles Dickens, and soon shoppers and pedestrians inquired about his poems.

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