He flew into the Los Angeles train station. A crow caught inside with nowhere else to go – flapped onto a bench, dropping his possessions nearby. Cold hands, grimy from living on the street reached for a loaf of bread hidden inside his plastic bag, warm in the middle of his bedroll made out of some kind of animal skin. He broke a huge piece of his communion and quickly crammed into his mouth. It wasn’t even chewed before it hit his empty stomach. A sigh and he settled down to look out the window. I thought he looked a bit like like Sammy Davis, Jr. Could he dance? Had he danced when younger?
They came in from the cold and walked up to him, gently asking questions. What was his name? Where did he live? Did he need information about nearby shelters? The crumbs from his bread still evident on his beard, he spoke quietly. I wondered if the bread had been stolen. Hoped it hadn’t.
The radio call went out. Moments later, he was in handcuffs. Nobody in the station even turned to look as he was taken away.
I had seen the movie, “Les Miserables,” only a few days ago. One loaf of bread can change a life forever.
