The Man in the Street

I can see the mumbles spilling out of his mouth before I can hear them. Movement of the lips, framed by a long beard and mustache, and I don't need to hear what he's saying to know.

He's praying again.

(He's always praying)

I see him at the library and hear him quietly praying, for the building, for the children, for the patrons, for the people that work there. I hurry into the convenience store and pass him as he leaves, mumbling a prayer of some sort.

He's eccentric, strange and slightly smells. Some might say he isn't all there.

Maybe. I don't know. I don't know him well at all, other than what I see and hear.

But I do know:

he prays