Wayward thoughts: Crossing

I thought about him. His that moment, the look on his face, the stride. He was on smooth turf, but there were stones and rubble to pass. Before he was saved. Saved from what? An everyday life? What if a vehicle had not stopped for him? What if he slipped and fell on the stones? What if in that position he was not noticed? What if there was no identification in his pocket? What if there was, and his family had to be told? What if there was no family? What if he had no destination?

He was only crossing the street like hundreds of people do, like you do and I do. Before we get to the other side. The other side from where we will cross again.

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