Sitting on the Cold Curb
The delivery rider lowered his body onto a damp cardboard box resting against the curb. His reflective work jacket was streaked with grime from hours on wet city asphalt.
Beside him, an insulated delivery backpack sat slumped against the concrete. Neon green letters glowed in the shop window overhead, casting a harsh reflection onto the puddles by his boots.
He lifted a single slice of cheese pizza on a thin paper plate toward his mouth. After taking one small bite, he chewed slowly, staring straight ahead into the empty street.
He set the slice back down on the cardboard surface and blew a long breath into the cold air. His shoulders dropped several inches as he rested his forearms on his knees.
A Passing Figure in the Dark
Footsteps scuffed along the pavement nearby. An older man in a tattered trench coat shuffled into view, pulling his collar tight against his neck.
The man slowed his pace as he drew near, his eyes dropping toward the paper plate resting beside the delivery bag. He stopped a few feet away, his hands buried deep inside frayed pockets.
The courier looked up and caught the man’s gaze. He reached down with both hands and picked up the plate.
“Wait,” the courier said, extending the plate straight out toward the sidewalk.
The older man paused, glancing between the food and the courier’s face. The courier tilted the plate slightly forward with a gentle nod.
“You need it more than I do,” the courier said. The older man reached out with weathered fingers, took the paper plate, and turned back down the street.
An Unexpected Morning Delivery
The following morning, the courier pushed open the glass door of a local cafe. He carried his bicycle helmet in one hand, his jacket still bearing the damp creases of the previous night’s shift.
He walked past the counter toward an empty wooden table near the front window. Resting in the center of the tabletop was a steaming covered bowl alongside a tall glass of water.
Beside the bowl lay a folded white card. The courier set his helmet down, reached forward, and picked up the paper.
Written across the front in neat black ink were the words, ‘Kindness always finds its way back,’ followed by a hand-drawn heart.
The courier pulled out the wooden chair and sat down slowly. He held the small note in both hands, his mouth curving into a wide, quiet grin as steam drifted up from the warm bowl on the table.
Know someone who always puts others before themselves? Share this with them.
