Personal Narrative-An Interview With A Homeless Man

His skin was deeply etched; like the earth when dry and parched in desperate need of precipitation. His clothes tattered; dirty; as would be with a homeless man. Each day he would sit on the same bench, on the same street, in the heart of New York City… …and he would smile. He would smile at all who passed him by. With a glitter in his eyes he smiled at all who passed him by. Hoping he could spread some joy to one; or maybe more.
But many just averted him by looking at the stores. They seemed to feel embarrassed, maybe thinking him too bold; their steps becoming quicker as they passed him in the cold. None of this seemed to bother him though, he just continued to smile. It appeared as though he was trying to catch their eye, but I couldn’t