The best way to describe my fingers.
Nonstop for 9 hours as I walked door -to-door on the streets of small-town Ohio.
The Traveling Salesman.
Finally, someone answered.
The furniture, well-worn. The space, cluttered.
Thoughtfully, he leafed through my encyclopedias as he listened to my pitch.
Sincerely, he asked if they would truly help his children.
It was the question I had been trained to answer.
I glanced at the Britannicas on his shelf, knowing very-well how much he had sacrificed to pay for them.
And with my first sale of the day within arms reach and tears in my eyes, I shook my head “no”.
No, you don’t need these.
No, this is not worth the “sale”.
No, this is not for me.
And with that, I thanked him for his time and made my way back into the rain.
Face up. Cleansed. Renewed.
The traveling salesman, no longer.