Taking What Remained On The Sidewalk
A young man in a black jacket and knit cap stopped his stride on the concrete, staring down at a patch of flattened brown cardboard.
An older man lay curled on his side along the brick wall, head resting against a small plastic bundle with his bare feet tucked close. Beside his shoulder sat a shredded black rolling bag, its fabric frayed at the seams and the outer zipper hanging split open.
The young pedestrian stepped forward, bent his knees, and wrapped his fingers around the worn plastic handle of the luggage. He pulled it away from the cardboard edge, straightened his back, and turned down the avenue without speaking a word.
The man on the ground did not stir as the wheels rolled across the expansion joints of the walkway.
A Walk Toward The Storefront
He carried the damaged piece of luggage along the sidewalk, holding it close to his hip as he passed brick brownstones and parked sedans.
The zipper pull clicked softly against the torn polyester casing with every stride he took. He reached a glass doorway with gold lettering that read Luggage Repair & Sales and pushed the entrance handle with his free hand.
Inside, rows of upright suitcases lined the shelves against the back wall in clean, organized columns. The store clerk looked up from behind the cash register counter as the man wheeled the frayed bag across the entryway floor.
The young man set the worn handle down, pointed toward the counter, and spoke to the clerk in brief, quiet words.
An Unfamiliar Weight On The Concrete
A short while later, the young pedestrian walked back down the long stretch of sidewalk toward the brick building. In his right hand, he carried a heavy, polished brown leather valise fitted with brass corner brackets and a sturdy matching strap.
He slowed his pace as he approached the sleeper, stepping carefully across the cracked concrete flags. He lowered himself gently, setting the gleaming brown trunk directly where the ragged black bag had previously rested.
He took a step back, looked down at the resting man for a second, and turned away down the sidewalk.
Moments later, the older man’s eyelids fluttered open against the gray daylight. He pressed his palms into the rough cardboard, pushed his torso upward, and rubbed his knuckles across his gray beard.
His eyes caught the reflection of brass hardware just inches from his bare knees.
He drew his breath in sharply, his mouth falling open as his hands hovered above the smooth leather surface. He reached out with two fingers, touching the polished tan hide to check if the solid object was real.
Opening The Brass Clasps
He swung his legs around and knelt directly before the trunk, sliding his thumbs over the metallic latches until both clicked open. He lifted the heavy lid upward, leaning back on his heels as the interior came into full view.
Neatly stacked inside the fabric lining were folded denim pants and fresh, clean shirts pressed flat against the corners. Resting right in the center of the clean garments lay a thick, paper-banded brick of hundred-dollar bills.
The man recoiled slightly, his jaw dropping wide as both hands flew to his chest. His fingers began to shake against his faded orange t-shirt, his eyes darting between the empty sidewalk and the organized contents of the case.
Tears spilled over his weathered cheeks as he pulled his hands together beneath his chin, squeezing his palms tight and bowing his forehead toward the open trunk on the concrete.
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