Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Daily Grace

The dining room of the Subway sandwich shop is crowded. The regular lunch hour din is constantly pierced by the synthetic bell of the opening and closing door. Ring! Squeak, footsteps. A warm fall draft follows behind every patron.

He sits, crammed amidst a mess of tables and chairs with his head bowed in prayer gracefully like a swan. He is perfectly still. His sandwich is unopened in front of him. He sits like this for several minutes. Vulnerable, unaware of the disorder around him, spilling his guts in the lunchroom.

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