STORY OF CITY CLEANERS
In every city, there is some unknown, selfless dedication to the city.
They are city cleaners, carpet cleaning berwick
On both sides of the road, in the nameless alleys, shining orange, they used brooms to wave out the colors of the city.
In the shade, I’m taking a cool ride.
Accompanied by a squeaky bike ride, a cleaner came on the way. He, probably in his fifties, walked very well, saw me, smiled at me, an old face, a pair of poor eyes under a pair of thick eyebrows, pores thick, slightly bearded, dry lips, white.
He smiled at me, and so did I. Sitting in a wooden chair, I saw him holding an ordinary broom, another holding a bump, skillfully sweeping the already yellow petals on the ground, mouth from time to time gasping for air.
The day is very hot, and he, still meticulously cleaning, bean big sweat beads from his face constantly rolling down, ticking, ticking …
“Bob, take a break!” It’s too hot. “I couldn’t help but walk up and whisper.
“No…” He glanced at me and continued to immerse himself in his work.
“Just take a break!” I really can’t bear to see it, and I’m asking again.
“Well, then!” When he saw me so sincere, he stopped cleaning.
He sat down along the wooden chair, took off his hat, fanned himself, and could clearly see the root white hair from his head. Looking at that pair of old hands, the hand is thin is an old man, thumb is also injured, wrapped in a piece of already dirty and broken can be paste.
Before long, he began to sweep the floor again, one, two, three… It’s finally cleaned up.
“Good-bye, kid!”
“Again — see — “
Looking at his distant back, my heart was sour…
One day in early November, an less man saw a pile of hats, gloves, sweaters and other warm-up items in a park in downtown Boston, leaving a note that said, “I’m not lost.” If you’re stuck in the cold outdoors, feel free to keep warm. “Looking at these hand-woven fabrics, I suddenly opened up: so that the warmth to the most needed, unknown people, is not the best Christmas gift?”
What I saw and heard over the next few days convinced me even more that the best gift in the world is kindness to strangers. On the way home with my daughter on a weekend night before Christmas, he accidentally drove his car into a stone ditch, his head drooping and its rear wheels dangling, and the insurance company’s emergency services had to be used. On the phone, someone came in a big truck with trailer facilities. The master towed my car back to the road and checked that my car was intact. He told me that using trailer equipment, which exceeded the insurance company’s quota for every emergency service, would have required me to pay extra, but he wouldn’t have let me pay. “Happy holidays!” He shook my hand and left.