Taking Turns With Fate

There they were chatting on the corner. Two men waiting for the 'walk' icon to appear so they could cross the street. Each seemed to be enjoying the company of the other.
One man wore a business suit and held a worn briefcase in his right hand.
The other man wore patched, dirty clothes. His hair was long and uncombed and matted. He held on tightly to the handles of his shopping cart which was full of black plastic bags and newspapers and unidentifiable scraps of metal. Eight small American flags on wooden pieces of doweling -- held to the metal frame of the cart by duct tape -- waved in the breeze.
The 'walk' icon appeared and the men quickly finished their conversation.
The man wearing the business suit crossed to the other side with the light and continued on his way.
The man wearing for all intents and purposes rags, pushed his shopping cart off of the curb and walked into the opposing traffic. Going against the light, he challenged fate. Cars braked quickly. Tires squealed on the asphalt.
Neither man gave the other a second glance as though this, their morning ritual, always played itself out in predictable patterns.
Perhaps the man dressed for business had once pushed his own shopping cart wearing rags and a smile. And perhaps the man crossing the street against the light had once worn a business suit and carried his own brief case.
And perhaps -- just perhaps -- neither man had forgotten how quickly roles can reverse.