the man at the bus stop.

Today while waiting at the bus stop I met a man who runs a shop I sometimes frequent. We talked.
 I asked him where he was going, and he answered, to his other shop not far away.

And then I asked him, what time do you finish work? And he said, around eight in the evening.

And then I asked, where do you live and how do you get back and to and fro? 
And he named a place quite a distance from where we were and said that he took buses and trains to get where he wanted to go every single day.

And then he said it was a sort of beautiful discipline, this daily taking of the buses and trains. And he liked it.

We sat waiting for our buses, and talked some more about being an artist today.

And again he reminds me that I have only done so much, gone so far; experience-wise, he is perhaps a rich man and I a street-sweeper. Or he is the top of a tree and I am a seed.

 And still he talks about how nice it is to do what one wants, and how happiness is most important. Despite all the things That Must Happen.

And then he left, and I felt extremely small but very hopeful.