Another Writing Excercise

The sky was bright with only a spattering of small fluffy clouds. The temperature was perfect for bare arms – one of those days when you do not sweat and do not get goose bumps. The trees were just beginning to put on new leaves. It was a wonderful day as I strolled along Collier Street in the downtown section of a small berg named Newton, Indiana.


There was a tiny trailer parked near the curb about a half a block from me. As I approached, I saw that it was a little traveling store. It had a window on its side which hinged up and made a kind of covered patio where one could stand in the shade and make a purchase.

“Coffee, please.” I was not one to pass up a fresh cup of caffeine. The lady inside handed me a paper cup full of fine Columbian java and with a smile she took my money.

The park bench near the trailer was beckoning me and I sat back with my ankles crossed while I sipped my coffee. As I sat there, an old man emerged from the Plasma Center two doors away.

His clothing was out of date by at least a decade. His shoes had cracks and holes. His steps were somewhat unsure and I wondered if he had been drinking. But as he walked past me, it was not alcohol I smelled. I struggled to recognize that smell for a moment, but then it came to me. It was the distinctive aroma of a Goodwill store. It was the smell of clothing which had hung in a closet for a very long time.

In his hand, he clutched a crumpled ten dollar bill – precisely the fee paid by the center when one allows them to extract a pint of plasma. “Poor fellow,” I thought as his steps took him from one side of the walk to the other.

He stepped up to the trailer store and said something to the clerk which I could not understand. Then there was an exchange of a package of Marlboros for his ten spot. He took his change and turned to look at me and the bench. Then he began to stagger in my direction.

It seemed certain that he wanted to sit down next to me, but his journey was cut short. When he was about ten feet from his mark he came to an abrupt halt and began to cough. He bent over at the waist as he hacked and chocked. A spurt of blood came from his mouth and nose, landing at my feet.

Gasping, he grabbed for his chest. He fell to his knees and I stood up to help him. His chest gurgled and rattled as he collapsed onto his face. By the time I managed to travel the two steps between us, he was dead.