Near the post office on University Way Northeast, everything was basking in the sun’s morning glow. And on a street corner there, a man stood.
He was wearing denim blue jeans, a black beanie and a black jacket. Next to him was what looked like a stumpy silver cart full of paper stacks, but organized.
As people walked by, he would look at them, holding out his paper. For a few, he would talk.
Whenever the man wasn’t smiling, his eyes seemed to smile instead. He talked in a way that seemed to care, even if but for the sake of conversation. His name is Yemane Berhe.