Beer
“For a dollar, a smile, or just the change in your pocket, I’ll sanitize the hands. I’m the Hand Sanitizer Man.”
He’s not a public sanitation worker. He’s missing a few teeth in the Metro Red Line. He’s the Hand Sanitizer Man.
I can’t help but smile. Because that’s all I have to give to him. And for him, that enough. For a moment, I’m grateful for a moment in the day where what I have to give is enough — more than enough — to give to someone.
Even though it breaks my heart, it makes me smile more than anything.
I don’t ask him for a squirt of generic hand sanitizer. I don’t talk to him. I look up, and smile.
