You wanna talk to Z.  He’s the guy who runs anything cookin’.  Anything food…Hey, Z.  Folks wanna talk with you about volunteering.

 

There was a smirk to his tone, as if he thought they were there simply to satisfy some guilt, like he knew they were going to be a One N Doner.

The two of them thought, together but not realizing it, as they were being walked back towards the kitchen through the drug addicts and the dignity, can a tone even smirk?  Isn’t that term limited to the physical?

 

Regardless of what the male volunteer thought, even as he suspected he was just judging his own projections (or, in other words, was damn guilty of trying to clean his guilt by being there), he felt that change he was waiting for.  He found what he wanted to do, there in that kitchen in that mission downtown.  He found what he was capable of doing and, well…that’s about it to this story for now…

 

This was simply to be a suggestion of a small moment in life.

 

 

 

 

 

af

 

 

 

 

(written with pen on paper)