the man who was shelling the peas and the double beans…

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had only seven fingers.

i muffled my shriek in the market. 

i saw the three stubs and he told me about the industrial accident that maimed him.

he was working cheerfully, matter-of-factly on a fine motor task that certainly requires 10/10 when he had only 7.

i stood still for a while.  taking in his reality. he had moved on – a morning of activity near the beans, and the cauliflowers.

 i met him at 9 am, and it usually takes me five minutes to compose a tiny post like this one.

 i have backspaced about 345 words and made four drafts. and it’s almost 9 p.m. 

i think the feeling i am having  as i replay this morning’s sight is  ‘respect’ — to have met a superhero who filled the blanks of living with three fingers less, with his dignity.

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