Sometimes I love mornings. I love the promise they bring in a new day, free of all the drama and angst of the previous day (or days). Sometimes, though, when I know the day will hold at least 8 hours of hard work and mental skill, I am hesitant to wake up, instead wishing to lay in bed perpetually and dream of the good mornings.
Today was a little rough. It's Friday, and the end of the week almost inevitably means a rough morning. Who knows what the day will hold for me.
I wrote a lengthy blog yesterday about a guy I know (seen three times in Denver) who has a girlfriend and the most adorable little girl. The first time I saw him on the O bus down Broadway, he was with his family. Everyone on the bus loved the little girl, not more than 3 years old. You could tell this guy loved her the most.
Weeks later, I see this same guy crossing 13th street. This time, he's solo, and he just looks defeated and crushed. I was driving by, so I didn't get a chance to stop or anything. Besides, that would have been a little weird.
Well, a couple weeks ago, I see him again. This time he and his girl are together on the corner of 13th and Downing. They look sad and embarassed. The sign they hold up says "laid off. Daughter needs food." I don't know why, but I kept driving, and when I finally turned around, it was too late. They were gone already.
This isn't quite as eloquent as the first draft I threw away, but it's a report on fact, and I think it's a story that needed to be told.