A chance encounter

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Taking the bus, you see images flashing past – faces, buildings, trees. And sometimes, when you look down, deep in thought, you might just realize that the old wrinkled woman sitting in front of you who, until then, was just another face in the crowd, is actually a construction worker, returning home, carrying a hoe held between tanned, roughened fingers, after a long day of work; hidden in plain sight and contributing to city building as much as you or me.

(Published in response to The Daily Post’s prompt, A chance encounter)


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