Wednesday, September 19, 2012


Not yet finished...

I reached my arm through the opened subway door and gently placed my hand on his shoulder.  He was maybe 8 years old, possibly 9, and tears were streaming down his face. 

"That man was wrong."  I told him.

His tears fell quicker as he started to give his defense, but what he didn't know is that he didn't need one.  I knew the door would be closing any second.  I interupted him, and again told him.  "I want you to know, that man was wrong."

I pulled my arm out of the subway car and the door closed between us. 

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