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Bus Story: Windows to the Soul

January 13, 2016

There is little about him that one might notice amidst the crush of a crowded bus. His fleece pullover and dark chinos are not unusual. His long hair, streaked with grey, is held back with an ordinary band. His shoes, dress blacks with those little tassels, may be less than ideal for the rainy weather, but not enough to incite more than a passing glance. His drawn, weathered face and well-trimmed mustache are those of someone you might know. No, there is nothing too remarkable about the man.  

Until you look into his eyes.  There is tragedy there. And determination. And justice. 

Then I see his hands. Strong, weathered, and scarred with what appears to be hundreds of healed cuts.  Suddenly, the bus lurches and a woman, catapulted by the jolt, careens towards a small boy, completely unaware that an adult person is about to drop on him like a sack of potatoes. In a blur, the man is up, sweeping the woman into his arms, and into the seat he vacated with nary a drop from her umbrella landing anywhere near the potential squish-victim lad. El Zorro may have retired, but just because he doesn’t carry a sword on the bus, doesn’t mean he can’t still save the day.

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