“Hey Brother,” he said. “How are you?”

“Hey. I’m good thanks.” I said glancing back at him.

“The fountain looks good this time of night doesn’t it?”

“Really nice.” I stopped walking and turned around, facing both him and the fountain.

It really was impressive. I had just snapped a few pics in the early evening light at Logan Square, and began heading back across the street to the wedding. It was an unusually warm night for early November and I had pushed my luck by staying outside as long as I did. The wedding reception I was playing trumpet for started in a few minutes. 

As I strolled across the stone walkway towards the sidewalk, I had caught site of him out of the corner of my left eye. He was a somewhat tall, reasonably thin man in a black polar fleece quarter zip. He had called to me from a few feet away as our paths narrowly missed intersecting.

“Do you live near here?” he asked.

“No,  I’m just in town for the night. I’m from Lancaster.”

“Yeah- I know Lancaster. Amish country, right?” he said smiling.

“Yes sir.” I laughed back.

“Look man I’m gonna be honest with you. I live on the street, mostly because I screwed my life up with a drug addiction. I’m clean and sober now for 3 months, and very happy to be that way, but I’m still stuck out here struggling on the street. There’s a Wawa… You know Wawa?”

“Sure- we have Wawa in Lancaster too”.  (Wawa is a regionally famous deli/convenience store/gas station loved by basically everyone)

“Haha- great! Well there’s a Wawa a few blocks away, and if you could spare me a couple dollars, I could probably get something to eat. I’m struggling and I hate doing this, but I’m not into robbing people or doing crazy shit, I’m just trying to get through another night out here.”

I dipped into my pocket and took out the worn, silver money clip; the one my daughter gave me when she moved off to college, and thumbed through my cash.

“I got two ones, a five and a twenty.” 

Doubting that seven dollars would cover, I handed him the twenty.

“Here you go.”

He hesitated for a second before taking it. “Twenty? Thank you! There’s a dollar store nearby, with this I can stop by and get a couple things after dinner. I really appreciate it man -it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thanks man- you too.” I said. “Good luck.”

“You’re in town just for the night?”

“Yeah, I have a wedding across the street at the Logan.” (The Logan is a high-end hotel in Center City Philadelphia)

“Dude, this is your wedding night and you’re over here talking to me?!”  I was wearing most of a tux and he apparently mistook me for the groom.

“No no- I’m just a trumpet player in the wedding band. I’m just going to work.”

“Oh- OK!” he said laughing at himself. “Thanks again,” he said. “And have fun at the wedding.”

“Thanks-good luck to you.” I said again as we shook hands and parted.

I went across the street and joined my bandmates. We spent the evening packing the dance floor with well dressed, fabulous looking people, full after a fine meal,  drunk on free booze, and overflowing with joy for the very nice couple whose wedding it was.

After The Gig

Several hours later, I stood on the street again, looking across the jumbo sized, circular intersection as the “walk” signal took its time appearing. Half a block down on my side of the street, a man appeared to be lying face down on the sidewalk.  

It was late and there was no traffic. A single car was on the street, a white SUV which had pulled over to the curb. I could see the driver’s head leaning out the window. I assumed he was trying to get the man’s attention. 

The man rolled over completely until he was facedown again. The SUV drove off, and I crossed the street hoping that I would not have to deal with this guy. I was tired and had a long drive home. I assumed the man was okay and not in need of immediate medical attention, otherwise the SUV driver would have done something. 

He appeared to be sleeping as I walked silently past him and up to the next intersection where another man lay sleeping on his back, a stop sign as his only shelter. I moved by quietly so as not to wake him, both out of respect for him and also because I didn’t want to be bothered. Two blocks later I was in my car and headed home.

When I arrived back in my hometown,  I stopped at Wawa for a late night sandwich.  I thought about the man I met at the fountain as I sat in my car eating a turkey hoagie. He had been headed to Wawa too. 

Oil, vinegar and a little old bay dripped off the sandwich wrapper and onto my white tux shirt.  I was irritated but grateful, realizing that although I am not rich, the possibility of having to buy a new tux shirt pales in comparison to the hurdles faced every day by my Wawa-loving counterpart back at the fountain.

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