Little old magician

When I was about twenty, I moved to a big city from a small town.

One of the things I loved most were the street performers, buskers and so on.  This may be the natural progression for a woman of twenty, who as a girl of two wanted so badly to run away and join the circus.

There was this one little old man, just skin and bones that hung out front of the subway station I sometimes used.  

For a few coins he would play some music, do a little jig and encourage you to make a wish.

I loved this guy!

Every time I saw him I’d give him whatever I could spare, often a handful of bills, sometimes just a few coins.  He was always as happy to receive either amount.

I liked to think of him as an old magician, a sacred fool set about granting the wishes of wicked people.

I remember one time wishing so hard before I let the money slip into his hat, he was dancing non stop through my deliberation.  “Wow!” he exclaimed as I finally finished, looked up and smiled. “That was one mighty big wish!”
I blushed, It was and it came true.

My wishes always came true when he was around!

I miss him.