Value
Dec 13th, 2011 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
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No one understood the value of something as well as Mr. Henderson. He pushed his shopping cart up and down Jamaica Hills, watching everything with the eyes of a raven. He could spot a scrap of discarded metal from 200 yards away.
Mr. Henderson would never let you litter. He’d eat your bread crusts or use your cigarette butts to line his jacket. And he could fix anything. Nothing was ever too broken for Mr. Henderson.
I always wonder what happened to Mr. Henderson. The last time I saw him, he was unconscious in that storm drain, surrounded by paramedics.
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