When I was 23 travelling in South America I found myself trapped, penniless and alone in a small town called Ouro Preto. A week earlier I had been attacked and robbed in Rio. I was feeling vulnerable. With nothing to do I found a strip of grass on a hill outside a church and allowed the day to move over me. On the far side of this piece of grass there was a homeless man. We occasionally looked at each other with suspicion, the gulf between us was more than grass.
3 hours passed and I walked over to the man offering him a milk sweet I’d bought in Belo Horizonte. He took it, neither of us spoke each other’s language so we stood chewing in silence. He shook my hand and then I sat back down.
I wasn’t alone and the space between us was just grass after all.
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