I sat there, on a bench in the pavement pretending to be a homeless poor boy, looking for stories.
As an author, I am supposed to actually have good ideas replenished always in my head, but that’s exactly what it is not. I am experiencing a mental drought. A very long writer’s block has overtook me, making me sometimes wonder if my brain still exists or has it evaporated out of its abode.
I yawned watching the old man crooning over, trying to sell his homemade candies to the peopl on the street.
But he had no luck, of course. Who wants cheap hand made lollies which can be unhygienic when you have melt-in-your-mouth delicious imported chocolates which are totally awesome desserts. ( except the fact that they add to your weight.)
The old man, failing with every person on the road, walked to the last person he saw. Me.
‘Here take my candies, son.’ He said trying to hand me a few candies.
‘Oh no sir. I don’t have enough cash.’ I lied quickly as my mouth watered slightly. The old man smiled and shook his head.
‘I spend a good 4 hours making them candies, but nobody buys. I don’t wanna feed them to the dustbin, and I suppose, you could have them, son. For free.’
My mouth hung open.
‘Oh sir, no. That’s too much of–‘ The man stuffed a few candies into my hand and grinned showing a few teeth missing.
I paused for a moment. Then,
‘In that case,’ I said dunking my hand into my pocket. ‘The candies are mine. And this is yours.’ I said fishing out nearly 50 dollars and thrusting it into his hand before disappearing through the path.
My heart felt warm even though the weather was teeth chattering.
But then, I knew I had a story. I had a story, Yes I did.