He is standing outside all alone, hugging his white bucket, eyeing all those happy, drunk, foolish acting people, leaning on the wall, making sure he is seen by those passing by…

I am sitting in this cozy place inside, warm, comfortable, watching him… I always watch him when I come here…

“A flower to the young lady sir!?” is his greeting phrase, “Look at her! She surely deserve a rose!”… and then he moves on to greet the next couple coming his way… He was my favorite old flower man.

That night, I kept watching him for around an hour, and then out of nowhere, I jumped off my stool, got outside, crossed the street, and stood right in front of him while handing him what he thought was a lot for one flower.

I smiled, “choose me the best flower you have please”. He looked at me, then back to the bucket in his hand, searched for what was in his mind the best flower in his hands, handed it to me, and then… smiled!

You see there are two sorts of smiles that touch my heart: the first one is the smile of a child, full of joy because he hasn’t lived life yet. As for the second one, it’s the smile of an old man who lived through life and its problems and yet finds a way to show happiness on his face…

That night, that’s what I saw on the old flower man’s face. And through smiling tears, I turned, crossed the street, got back inside, climbed back on my stool, and continued to watch him from afar while looking at a beautiful pink rose in my hand…