image courtesy of The Common Online
We were tipsy and in a good mood, Paul and I, coming home from our favorite bar in the whirlings of this season’s first “historic snowstorm,” when I noticed the figure floundering in the snow.
He was a dark clot of winter coat and baggy pants, on his knees, fumbling with a long rod. I peered at him.
“Is he ok?” I said. “Oh—maybe he’s just fitting a snow shovel back together.” Our steps brought us closer. “Wait, that’s a cane.”
Read the essay at the Common Online