I look out and see him sprinkling water on the pots. Tangled mane…face streaked with dirt… dressed in ragged shorts.
Bikes and autos honk and beep, trying to wiggle out of the crowd. The car starts moving.
There’s a modest block with a hole in front. Maybe that’s his home…? I see a person call out to him. He is not alone.
He keeps the mug down and runs off… heels kicking high. That should make me feel better.
Day disappears in the routine chores. I talk and smile.
And still, nothing shakes this feeling.
Just another day at work.