While driving to work today, I passed a man on the street corner peddling the Houston Chronicle. I never usually hear him saying anything; he normally just walks up and down the street by the stop light, holding the newspaper high above his head for the morning rush of drivers to view what he’s selling.
Today was a little different. As he passed by my rose colored minivan, I heard him shouting, “Paper! Get your paper!” I was immediately taken to a place and time of dirt roads, wooden sidewalks, a General Store, with horse and buggy carriages making their way along the dusty road. On the road, I imagined a bustling of people chatting with each other, some on their way to their trades, others shopping for their month’s worth of supplies as they make their visit “to town.” On the corner in front of the General Store is a young boy, scruffy attire, dirty hands, disheveled hair, with newspapers in hand, shouting “Paper! Get your paper! Two bits!”
Passers-by approach the young man, “Joey,” toss him their two bits and take his paper, as they rush to their destinations.
“Mornin’ Joey,” greets Mrs. Baker.
“Mornin’ Ma’am. Paper?”
“I think I will. Thanks, Joey!”
“Thank you, Miss Baker!”
Yes, business as usual in this busy town.
Moments later, I heard a car horn honking behind me, pulling me back to my pink mini van; another driver in a hurry to get where he was going. I gave the man selling his newspapers a sympathetic look as I continued on my way to work.
Some things never really change.