Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
A man sweeps the sidewalk in front of the hotel, casting gravel into a diminishing snowbank just past the curb. He wears a purple sweater over a white shirt, navy slacks, and blindingly shiny black shoes. He works quickly with his head tilted south, his eyes studying the corner at the bottom of the hill, but he can hear the tram coming before he can see it. Finally, a morning tram, newborn red and screechy, approaches. He stops, rests his broom on the wall, takes a few steps away. He squints into one of the few sunny days this winter.
The labored tram rolls nearly vacant at 8 am on a Sunday morning, He gazes into the windows like he is expecting someone–someone with whom he might share a long glance in passing–but no one seems to satisfy his wait. As this tram arches to the corner and away, he moves casually back to his broom. Shuffling the bristles against the stones, he looks down the line for the next opportunity.