Palm trees line the street

Palm trees line the street, equidistant one from the next.  Pasadena is a beautiful city.

I take the Lake road exit in my borrowed 4x4.  The down-and-out vet stands at the intersection motionless and seemingly emotionless – the same scene at 2:30pm the day before.

A $20 bill burns a hole in my pocket so I roll down the window and wave to get his attention.  He starts toward me with such a jump, but – oh, how I wished then he wouldn’t have fallen – now he is laying with dry lips kissing the dirt on the ground a few paces away.

He struggles to get up slowly but surely, red-faced with shame, knowing the light will change any second – and with it his chances of getting the crumpled bill in my hand.

“How are you doing?” I ask foolishly. 

“It’s the damn leukemia.”

The light changes and cars behind me inch forward so I move along.

Palm trees line the street, equidistant one from the next.  Pasadena is a beautiful city.