He was an old man. A very old man he was.Whispy white hair, almost torn clothes. He looked homeless. I gave him a wary look (now the subway car is going to smell).
The train started, the old man took a book out of his tattered old bag, and out came a magnifying glass.
It changed the way I looked at him.I wanted to know what he knows.
And then I looked at his shoes. His spotless blue shoes.
The Juno Journal 