for twenty-seven years i have lived on this street. i can recall the face of each person who has walked past me as though they were standing right in front of me now. i can remember the way each person glanced at me as they passed, with the same sorrowful expression. “he’s a poor beggar,” they thought. “his pockets are empty and his heart is emptier, he has nothing.”
a young girl walked down this street once. her dark brown mary janes passed me by, paused and reversed. they turned to face me, the steel cap on the toe of each shoe scuffed and dull. “ma mère m’a dit, ‘un jour vous aurez vous réveiller et de voir que l’herbe est si verte des deux côtés et votre coeur sera plein.’”
