A True Story
Free Hugs
He is tall, thin, white. The sideburns aren't real, and she wonders why he has them at all. His hair is slicked back, his grey sweater vest matches the sky and he wears a brown overcoat. He looks like an 1850s london man and he is standing next to a sign, propped on the ground, with words written in clear, black ink:
Free Hugs
There is a girl standing in front of him, confused. She is wary. From far away their conversation cannot be heard, but you see him pull out his ID and show her that he is, in fact, a student at their college, and not a creepy old man who wants to touch people.
Another girl approaches, dressed in a long black overcoat, and immediately asks what must have been demanded of him uncountable times that day: "Why?"
He shrugs. It was something he'd thought of a few days past. He didn't know why, he just wanted to do it.
"How many?"
The questions do little for either of them, but she wants to know. His answer could have been anything and it wouldn't have affected her. A few drops of rain pattered threateningly; the sign held fast in the wetness.
Free Hugs
He had hugged 39 people in the past 2 hours. The first girl had been done interrogating him, and hung around, perhaps still deciding. But the other immediately drew up to him, embraced him with one arm, and made it 40. His hug was tight and strong. Her day had pushed her so low that she felt like a child in a blanket. They parted.
She walked away and glanced at him with a smile. Then she burst into tears.
He is tall, thin, white. The sideburns aren't real, and she wonders why he has them at all. His hair is slicked back, his grey sweater vest matches the sky and he wears a brown overcoat. He looks like an 1850s london man and he is standing next to a sign, propped on the ground, with words written in clear, black ink:
Free Hugs
There is a girl standing in front of him, confused. She is wary. From far away their conversation cannot be heard, but you see him pull out his ID and show her that he is, in fact, a student at their college, and not a creepy old man who wants to touch people.
Another girl approaches, dressed in a long black overcoat, and immediately asks what must have been demanded of him uncountable times that day: "Why?"
He shrugs. It was something he'd thought of a few days past. He didn't know why, he just wanted to do it.
"How many?"
The questions do little for either of them, but she wants to know. His answer could have been anything and it wouldn't have affected her. A few drops of rain pattered threateningly; the sign held fast in the wetness.
Free Hugs
He had hugged 39 people in the past 2 hours. The first girl had been done interrogating him, and hung around, perhaps still deciding. But the other immediately drew up to him, embraced him with one arm, and made it 40. His hug was tight and strong. Her day had pushed her so low that she felt like a child in a blanket. They parted.
She walked away and glanced at him with a smile. Then she burst into tears.