He poured the contents of the tattered pouch onto the concrete and rummaged through them.
Passersby barely noticed him. He had become a fixture much like a fire hydrant or trash barrel.
He was surprised when the child stopped, and his father didn’t immediately steer him away.
The boy asked questions and told a joke, to which he responded with a snaggletooth smile.
The father put money into the can and turned away. He stopped them and pulled a white feather from the assortment of items he treasured. Giving it to the boy, he said, “Never quit trying to fly.”
– Written for Splickety Publishing Group, Bolt Flash Fiction, Photo Prompt. WC 100