Trash

As I was walking into work today on 4th Street, I see this gentleman, finish off a Twix Bar, crumple up the wrapper, and throw it on the ground. Ohhhh, man, I love this guy. Classy. He’s a busy man, sure, there’s a garbage can, 10 steps away, but he’s obviously too good for that. Maybe, he even owns the street, and he kindly is thinking of others, who have to clean up after him. He employs them, so, in a roundabout way, he’s giving them something to do. A true humanitarian.

I jog over, and pick up his trash. I say, Oh, sir, let me get that for you. He says, oh…that’s not mine.  I’m sorry sir, I thought I saw you drop it. Did you want to keep it?

And then, for some reason, he walked away, without saying another word.

I understand. In his position as an advanced human being, it was an honor that he let me pick up his trash.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

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