This morning in front of the
discount fish market
on diverse Mission Street:
Fitfully sleeping on the
bus-stop bench,
as usual ─ the grizzled old
man existing
in the last, probably
hopeless,
stages of an alcoholic
reality.
Nearby, two beautifully
groomed ladies,
perhaps near the same age
hand out Spanish-language Watchtower
magazines: offering their great
hope
for eternity.
A photo of today would have been
invasive
and inappropriate. Thought I would
cast my
eyes upward with this older photo.