When Things are Wrong, We Write

Last Wednesday, I saw a man sitting outside of the Loeb Glebe. It’s a popular spot for people to sit. Sometimes they ask for spare change; often they just have a little sign and don’t say a word.

This man was particularly interesting, because as I passed him on the sidewalk, he opened up his coat and took a swig from a can that looked suspiciously like beer.

Today I saw a younger man sitting in the same spot. He had a sign that said he was trying to get to Halifax. I don’t know if he was heading home, or running away. Either way, I hope he gets where he’s going.