The Cleaner

There he was, bent over, gathering the leaves on the sidewalk, scooping them up between two square planks of wood and dumping them into the forlorn barrow that stood lopsided because it had lost a wheel.
For some strange reason, I felt a tenderness towards the man. I saw him doing the same thing everyday, at the same place and at the same time. Because I crossed the same place at the same time, everyday.Only, he'd register on my radar and I'd go back to whatever it was that I was doing - driving/reading while being driven or tapping away a favorite melody.
This morning I was taking a cab to go to work. My car was held up at the workshop. And, creature of habit that I am, I turned around to observe him and saw him working away. Something struck me and I asked the driver to stop the cab.
I got off, no, not as you see in the movies with one leg out first followed by the next sexily stockinged one. I get off cars in a rather ungainly fashion. Both legs out first, but I digress. So I got out and started walking towards him, apprehensively, but purposefully. It was a short way off, so before I could think of anything, I was there, in front of him.
We stood there, face to face. Me, removing non-existent grime from under the nail of my index finger - aah, the comfort of the subconscious mind. He, with both square planks, shorn of their crunchy clients [I've been working too much on customer service!], looking at me, with one eyebrow shot up quizzically, a nagging suspicion reflecting in his eye.
I reached out to him with an extended hand and said, "Thank you."
He stared at me, his mouth agape. I pirouetted on my non-heeled shoe and with a spring in my step and a smile on my face, walked away.