(My chorus is working on a song for this spring titled “De Blin’ Man Stood on de Road an’ Cried.” It reminded me of this man I met in Honduras.)
Walking the Market Place in downtown Tegucigalpa, Honduras, Central America, I was assaulted by the cacophony of sounds – horns honking, salsa music blaring, people laughing, shouting, and talking.
Trying to sort out the myriad of smells – diesel exhaust, fresh fruit, body odor, fresh flowers, perfume, spoiled garbage – was, at the same time, both nauseating and pleasant.
Taking in the visual panorama was the most challenging. My eyes were constantly shifting focus from the small details to the bigger mosaic of colors and shapes.
It seemed everyone in this city of a million people was squeezed into this two hundred yard-long stretch of narrow street. I kept my hand on the camera around my neck and repeatedly felt my back pocket with my other hand to be sure no one had stolen my wallet.
Turning a corner I saw him squatting outside a small wooden shed. He was…
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