Humanity

A man vacationing in Rio De Janeiro was walking down a street one sleepy afternoon. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the man. His thinning hair and grey stubble suggest that he was maybe pushing 60, and if you were unconvinced by that, his St. John's bay polo and khaki shorts surely would do the trick. The man was likely retired or at the very least not far from it. I imagine this man is a professional. This trip is his reward, a gift from him to him for silk the hard years he gave his firm or the company, department or bureau. Maybe he was being forced out to make room for the young hot shot and this trip was his way of coping with t the reality that he wasn't wanted anymore

"How dare they! Who do they think they are? How could they kick me to the curb for some milk-breathed thunder cat? After all the pounds of flesh I gave for them?" I imagine going through the events of the inevitably, his eyes, one soaking with ambition, a shadow behind overpriced sunglasses. Another reminder of what he was losing. despite taking in All of the beauty Rio had to offer over the first four days and five nights of his five day six night vacation (I assume, being that his flight was international, he arrived at night) he still felt betrayed and angry at the turn of events at the job. Nobody likes rejection, and after the decades he devoted to his work, this rejection was the ultimate betrayal.

He had resigned to walk until the lump welling up inside him passed, even if it meant walking clear across Brazil. After about an hour the man found that he silk hadn't walked the pain away. He glanced up and realized that he didn't know where he was either. This was no longer the tourist friendly hotel district inside the city. No, the man had crossed an invisible barrier. He was somewhere between the gorgeous south american metropolis that failed him and the true city of Rio. He was on a rocky, unpaved road that connected the city to the shanty town that encircles it. As if his problems weren't enough already, he knew that being caught out in the slums could mean a bad night for him. Not knowing how he'd let himself wander off like that, the only logical step was to turn around and make his way back to the city.

So of he went, angrier than when he left. "just great. Some help this was. this whole trip has been a waste." Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small figure. Were it not for an oddly placed bike he might have missed it, as the figure was the same beige color as the surroundings. It was the figure of a little girl. Her clothes, if you can call the tattered filthy rags she had on clothes, were covered in dirt and her face wasn't much better off. She looked as if the last kindness life offered her was a back hand slap and the next would be a swift exit.

Before the man knew what was happening, he found himself standing next to the girl. I don't know if it was fear or for lack of a Better course, but the girl didn't move. The man's Portuguese was good awful, more like a crude amalgam of Spanish and Italian stereotypes, and for all he knew the poor girl didn't speak English. " are you ok, miss?" He felt like he knew the answer even though she offered no response. One look at her told the story. He hadn't noticed before, but the girl's feet were bare. " what happened to your shoes",  the man pointed to her feet. The girl grabbed one arm, like she was holding herself, her weight shifted back and forth. On this unpaved road with no shoes, for some reason this kept going through his mind.

With as little thought as has brought him to this road, the man slipped the sandals from his feet. The girl's hand went to her mouth, a whimper rose from her throat. The whimper turned into tears as the man placed the sandals at her feet. "This road is full of rocks and all kinds of sharp things. You should put those on do you don't get hurt." The man walked away, back toward the beautiful south american metropolis. He wasn't angry anymore.

I imagine the girl stood there for a few minutes crying her eyes out. As the tears subsided, she glanced toward the city to catch a glimpse of the man who showed her the first true kindness she'd ever experienced. But the man was already gone. She looked at the sandals he placed by her. They were far to big, but a vast improvement over her current lack of a pair. She placed her feet in them. "Perfeito", the whimper arose in her throat again.