Homeless man, nestled in the doorway of the copy shop for the night. Flattened Dell box makes a thin cardboard wall between man and street. The news plays on his radio. All I see are his legs, curled up under a thin blanket.
As I pass, he starts to sing. The man's voice over the sound of the radio, clear and younger than I'd expect.
"Don't stop belie-eeving....doo doo dooo
"Hold on to the fee-ee-elin'..."
I can hear my boots echo on the sidewalk as I turn the corner. You and me both, friend.