A contagious medicine

It was a cold yet sunny day when we walked through central park in New York. Our task was simple:

Find someone who is willing to make a picture of you with his or her camera and send it to you. We

tried to single out tourists since they would be naturally open and friendly, and it worked. We could

help them as well by making pictures of them and giving them some kind words. But I had no idea

that this day I would be the one blessed by someone … someone by whom I did never expect it from.

He was standing under a bridge, very inconspicuous. The only reason I noticed him was because he

asked a short “How are you” as we went by. “Good” was my answer, “You are playing the violin?” I

asked, taking a look upon his violin case. “Starting in a few moments” was his answer which I heard

behind me while moving on. But something in me wanted to go back to this guy under the bridge

who just looked like a homeless. Why? I don’t know.