A street hawker sat next to me on the ride back this morning. His hands were dirt stained and his nails untrimmed as he held his wares carelessly splayed on his lap: a wooden maria on the verge of tears and Christ crucified endlessly. His faded shirt and torn jeans were dusty on his dusty body. He was unwashed and unkempt but his soul electric had a rough edge that cut straight through all reason to my apartment.
some things/scenes just call out to us, pulling us in. i think there's a quiet beauty about this. :)
ReplyDeletei love you.
ReplyDeleteI am pleased to have found your blog Drew, since it's not everyday that I encounter blogs that I can actually read and relate to.
ReplyDeleteI will sure come back. :]
nice~read:)
ReplyDeleteGreat description. I love this blog.
ReplyDeleteand the last line did it for me.
ReplyDeleteNice. New theme. I am looking forward to a new post. ^__^
ReplyDeleteDrew congrats your blog is unique a hug
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