Passing By The Curb
Daniel tapped at his glowing phone screen as his polished leather shoes struck the concrete sidewalk outside the warm cafe windows. A weathered man sat flat against the brick wall, pulling his tattered wool jacket close against the chill and exhaling a thin trail of steam into the evening air.
The seated man lifted an open palm, his cracked knuckles trembling slightly beneath frayed cuffs. He asked if Daniel had a dollar for something warm to eat.
Daniel broke his stride for only a fraction of a second, his left wrist flicking upward to check the face of his watch. He muttered an apology about an upcoming meeting, kept his eyes forward, and let his long strides carry him past the curb.
Behind him, the glass door of the cafe swung open. A woman stepped onto the sidewalk wearing a tan apron, carrying a wrapped sandwich and a steaming paper cup with a secure lid.
A Cup Of Coffee And A Quiet Truth
She bent down to knee level, extending both items toward Walter with both hands. The older man reached forward, his fingers curling around the warm cardboard of the cup before accepting the sandwich.
Daniel stopped near the entrance, turning his head as the door rattled shut. His brow pulled tight as he crossed his arms, staring down at the scene on the pavement.
He asked the waitress how one meal could possibly matter when an entire city was full of empty stomachs. The woman looked directly into his eyes, her shoulders squared beneath her apron, without taking a single step backward.
From the curb, Walter adjusted his grip on the coffee. He spoke quietly, noting that while paper bills could purchase a warm overcoat, they had no power to buy a warm chest.
Daniel looked down at his own tailored suit. His hands slowly slipped out of his coat pockets, resting loosely at his sides while his gaze remained pinned to the curb.
Returning To The Counter
Hours later, beneath the fluorescent glow of a corner high-rise office, Daniel stared down at a desktop covered in contracts and financial spreadsheets. He reached out and pushed the stack aside, his knuckles resting against the polished mahogany wood.
The next morning, Daniel pushed open the glass door of the same cafe. He walked directly up to the wooden counter where the woman in the tan apron stood wiping down the espresso machine.
He placed his hands flat against the wooden ledger and asked for twenty meals. When she paused with the rag in her hand, he asked her what else he could do to assist.
She told him to start simply by looking people in the eye. She placed twenty brown paper sacks across the counter, and Daniel gathered them into his arms.
Out on the street, he walked along the brick storefronts, extending the warm packages to those sitting against the walls. An elderly woman took a bag into both hands, pressing it against her knitted shawl while her voice shook with relief.
Opening Every Chair
A young boy in a dust-streaked shirt stopped in front of Daniel, his hands gesturing quickly as he spoke. He explained that he was not looking for endless handouts; he wanted an opportunity to earn his own way.
Daniel lowered himself to match the boy’s height, resting a steady hand on the youth’s shoulder. Inside the cafe, flyers for job opportunities soon filled clipboards, and neighborhood residents gathered around long wooden tables to pack supplies and stir large kettles of vegetable soup.
When Walter walked into the cafe hours later, Daniel pulled out a wooden chair and gestured toward the empty place setting. Walter looked down at the chair, telling Daniel he would sit only if Daniel sat across from him and ate his own bowl.
Days later, the young boy returned wearing a clean collared shirt, holding a fresh sheet of paper and smiling from ear to ear as Daniel clasped his shoulder. Beside an empty dining table, a folded index card rested on the seat of an empty wooden chair, bearing the handwritten words: Keep the chair open. Someone out there still needs to be seen.
On the sidewalk outside, a man in a brown winter jacket stands holding the handlebars of his bicycle under the evening streetlights, lifting his right hand to wave toward the camera.
Send this to someone who always takes the time to notice the people around them.
