The Man Everyone Walked Past
Silas lived in the alley.
Wrapped in a tattered navy parka. Beard tangled with gray. Sitting on the same overturned crate.
Other hospital staff avoided him like he was invisible.
I didn’t.
For ninety nights, I brought him the same thing:
- A warm turkey club
- A thermos of black coffee
We barely talked.
He’d nod, look at me with sharp, intelligent eyes, and say:
“Thank you, Clara. You’re the only one who sees the air.”
I thought he was just a poetic soul lost to the streets.
I was wrong.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
