The Cobbler

It was a cold winter morning with a hint of fog. Our bus stopped at a traffic light. There was a cobbler crouched on the pavement. In a well practiced routine he unpacked his anvil, hammer and other tools from his rucksack. He neatly stacked up the shoe soles one on top of the other. He fumbled briefly, while he was trying to tie the various colored shoe laces on the nails that were punched into the wall of a building that doubled up as his backrest, was this due to the cold or due to old age, no one could tell. What was he doing so early in the day, a time very few people were about? Would coming a few hours earlier help him earn more? How much did he earn in a day? Some questions that stayed with us as the light turned green and our bus moved ahead.