Driving on my way to get my fix. Chilly night. Expensive addiction.
Grande Caramel Macchiato, then off to experiment with an expensive new gadget.
Driving down the street. A sea of lights. Cars. Traffic stops.
And then some flashy yellow lights to my right.
I look over. There's a man holding a big sign on the sidewalk.
**Insurance**
His face looks familiar. Average height. Stocky build. Fourty-something.
Wind breaker jacket, boots, and a cowboy hat.
**Insurance**
That is his job. But he does not sell it. He does not process paperwork.
He leads people to it.
In this city, independent city, proud city, city of Latinos, city of esfuerzo and big dreams,
He stands by the street and flashes his sign on San Fernando.
**Insurance**
I know then that I've seen this man's face before.
I've seen it in my father.
I've seen it in my uncle.
I've seen it in my neighbors
And countless other men who I encountered growing up.
His face is the face of struggle.
The face of a man down on his luck
With a family to feed and a shitty job that doesn't pay enough.
But hey, algo es algo.
In this split second, as I drive by him, I have to fight the urge
To stop and give him a little something extra.
But I dare not do it. I would not offend him.
He is not a beggar. He may not make much, pero es trabajo honrado.
What to do? What to do? I never know.
All I can do is quietly wish him good luck
And remember that the struggle isn't forever.
