He got on in lower Manhattan, one of the last stops before the Hugh L. Carey Tunnel to Brooklyn. The bright orange shovel was hard to miss. He sat beside me, the shovel handle wedged between my seat back and the window. Still, I didn't ask about the shovel until we both got off at the college stop.
"I felt like an idiot carrying a shovel onto a bus," he told me, "but I left my car in the lot a couple nights ago and it got iced in. I tried to dig it out with a scraper but that just broke. So, 30 bucks for a shovel and here I am...." We parted when I got on the shuttle bus and he hoofed it towards his car. To do what he had to do. I doubt he'll ever drive without a shovel again. (I know I don't. I have two.)
|Walk tall, Brother.|