His Response to Degradation

Was out on a stroll that early morning with an Americano from Nocturne.

No real intent. Two minutes in, I noticed the sound of wheels ahead of me. It was early enough that the horrible sounds of engines and honking were basically non-existent.

I then noticed him. A young man. Him, with all his belongings, with a cart full of cans he must have collected overnight.

Remnants of yet another ode to Jean.

At one point, still ahead, he bumps into a middle aged lady. Accident. Well dressed, and likely well-to-do. She scolds him. Crude, coarse and boorish. In that moment, he became a nothing. Degraded.

I will never forget the way in which he responded “Sorry, desolé” with his head down in his gentle voice.

From her, no acknowledgement.

That was his response to degradation. He continued on his way.