Word Count: 403<\/p>\n

I followed him, the man who spent his days walking up and down Broadway. He would stop at noon, sit down in front of the Chinese take-out, when they were too busy to chase him away. He would spread out his coat, lean against the wall, just under the Moo Goo Gai Pan<\/em> neon sign in the window, his one and a half legs in plain view. He\u2019d take off his grey-brown fedora, lay it by his side upside-down. Then he\u2019d fall asleep for a bit, maybe dreaming of the coins some passersby would drop in the hat.<\/p>\n

I noticed the double row of medals, ribbons discolored to a greasy colorless display on his chest. I noticed the scar on his jaw that ran from his left ear down into the sparse peppery beard. He had one eye that looked eastward, as if seeking the enemy. We were all around him and he knew to be wary despite the silence of sniper fire, without the flashes of bombs through tall trees.<\/p>\n

He was of a different time, a different war, one that made sense even after its end. He came back missing more than a limb, more than the wife who couldn\u2019t wait for him, more than the friendship of friends blown up by his side.<\/p>\n

I dropped three twenties and two fives in his hat. I started back to the office but stopped and turned around as if I\u2019d reached the end of a run. The man was still asleep. A young boy stood nearby. He\u2019d walk a few steps, turn and re-pace the sidewalk in front of the man. Then, in sync with the music inside him, the curtains drew back and his movements became planned and precise. In a graceful arc he danced by, dipping down into the man\u2019s hat in one fluid bow. Then he froze.<\/p>\n

The man never opened his eyes but held the boy with a grip of pliers on his wrist. The boy slowly rose to a standing position as much as the man would allow. The money floated down like leaves from his hand. He stepped back as the man guided him away. He turned and ran. The man opened his eyes, his chest heaved in a sigh. He pocketed the cash, pulled his hat down on his head, and gathered his things to get back on his journey down Broadway.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Word Count: 403 I followed him, the man who spent his days walking up and down Broadway. He would stop at noon, sit down in front of the Chinese take-out, when they were too busy to chase him away. He … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[23],"class_list":["post-684","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-mainstream","tag-mainstream"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/684","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=684"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/684\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":862,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/684\/revisions\/862"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=684"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=684"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=684"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}