Supermarket man

I've not seen him in almost two years.

As I walked into the supermarket this morning he waved at me, and to my surprise he recognised me still. We met a few days after I started working in Leiden, at the entrance to the supermarket. He's always there, every morning, and much earlier than I ever was. It's warm to see his smile and hear his greeting every morning. Whenever I walk into the supermarket to buy my breakfast, I'd always buy a bit more. We'd often chat over a croissant and juice.

He's not changed much since the last time I saw him. Still the same big smile, still the same warm voice and firm handshake. He left his family in Nigeria a few years ago to come to work in the Netherlands. He's not seen them since. And now he sells newspapers. A dozen cents for him for each paper he sells. But he stands there every morning of every day, at the entrance to the supermarket, with a big smile and nods to every passerby.

I've gone around the world and back since I last saw him. He's been selling papers day in and day out since he last saw me.