May 17, 2004
There’s an old man who spends all day sitting on the steps in front of his brownstone just down the street from us, shouting out greetings to everyone who walks past. His voice is loud and jovial and sounds like happy laughter turned into speech. “Good morning! How is the young man today!” “Very well! How are you?” “The old man can’t complain – he can’t kick high, but he can still kick!” He laughs, his smile creasing his eyes nearly closed, his teeth and beard standing out in white contrast to his dark brown skin as he greets someone else.