He's been there as long as I have been there. He was there before I was there. I assumed.
Every day he works at the store at the end of my block. Tirelessly, he opens the store, he is there all day and then he closes it. Sometimes I see him cycling up the street, on his way to work. For thirty years he has been doing that. For nine years I have been a witness.
We chatted and one holiday he cried as he told me how he missed his wife, who was no longer alive. He was not looking forward to going home to an empty house; so we talked a little. And by we, I mean the neighbourhood. In the morning as I walked by and wished him a good morning, he would hold my hands and kiss my cheek. He didn't mind if I was super-sweaty from a run, I was never too gross for him. Or maybe he was just too polite to say. Or maybe he just knew how he lifted my spirits and how he made me smile.
Sadly, we lost him on Saturday. He was in an accident as he cycled on Saturday. He was a part of my neighbourhood. He was there before I was there. He would be there after I was there. I assumed.
