Assumptions are dangerous. That maxim was drilled into me years ago as a newbie journalist. But I’m not writing a news story. I’m speculating about a man at the school park up the street. He was sitting at a table, alone, surrounded by squealing kids and watchful parents. My son, Atticus, was playing nearby on the slide.
The guy looked wayward, homeless even, but orderly — lush gray beard, weathered face, stocking cap pulled to his brow, clean jeans, stuffed duffel bag, and a few items that I couldn’t make out next to the bag. On the table was a blue hard-cover notebook. Printed on the cover and spine was “Hewlett Packard.” The notebook made me think of the one I had at Intel for personnel documents. Read More
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