Their faces weary.
Their steps tired.
Their clothes, mostly neat, and old.
Their hands tell a story of hard, hard, labor, and so do their shoes.
They ride the LA trains and buses - thank God for public transportation.
Nestled in between theaters in various states of life and death and old office buildings on Broadway - shops, markets, newsstands, vendors with small carts selling baubles and bangles and fruit drinks, hole-in-the-wall restaurants and bridal shops with billowy white baptism gowns hanging from the ceiling like so many angels dancing frivolously to entice customers ... and lots of people, lots of languages, lots of faces of all different kinds.
A few shop-keepers on the street inviting passers-by to "stop in; check out the store; good deals here."
Music seeping out of the stores.
An elderly man playing the accordion on a busy corner ... a few dollars in a hat laying on the sidewalk beside him. He has a pleasant smile on his face. Wonder what he's thinking. Is he tired? Is anyone listening?
Lots of families here.
Kids in tow, in strollers, in arm.
Some by themselves, heads down, lost in thought, intent on their way somewhere, in a hurry.
None of them rich ... hanging on to their dreams.
I salute them.
I honor them.
I bless them.
They are the representatives of the American Dream at its best.