The streets lack love

I was standing at the side of the road beside a bank of motorcycles when a little girl walked up to me and tapped my bag.
I looked at her and she mumbled something. I crouched and cocked my head to her and she repeated what she had said. She wanted someone to help her cross the street.
It was a busy road in the middle of the morning rush, two lanes on both sides separated by a concrete barrier. One of the motorcycle taxi riders, the tallest man in the group, looked over at us and asked me what she wanted. I told him.
He got off his bike with his helmet still on, took her tiny hand and helped her across the road.
I stood there watching as he flagged down two lanes of traffic, lifted her over the median and did the same thing on the other side.
It was the sweetest thing I had ever seen.
A tear must have rolled down my cheek or something because by the time he crossed back over, he was scowling at me.
I scurried away.


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