Down there by the Train

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He’s here everyday just sitting. On the little metal bench next to the newsstand, under the big clock and he just sits. Every morning when I come off my train he’s there, sitting, and when I’m done at work and on my way back home guess what? Still there. I don’t remember when I first noticed him. I could have walked passed him two dozen times or more before I realised he’s always there, always just sitting. Always in what looks like his best cheap suit, tie done up nice, silvery grey hair parted from the side and his shoes shined just right. And always in his hand a single red rose. I ask the girl the at flower stand outside the station, she says he buys a new rose every morning, “A lady deserves flowers” is all he ever says before handing over just the right amount of loose change every day. I asked one of the security guards about him and they didn’t know much, just that he does no one any harm and just sits, till its dark out then he picks himself up, strolls outside and disappears into the city.

Anyway he’s there as I get of my train and make my way through the crowds. Only this time I speak to him. “Hey”, I say, “How are you today Sir?” He smiles at me and I go about my day and when I come back through the station he’s gone. The lady from the flower stand calls to me “Hey Miss, the rose guy, in the suit, asked me to give you this” and with that she hands me a single red rose.

I haven’t seen him since.

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