
Early one morning, I was waiting at the bus shelter near my house to head to Appleby GO Station on my way to the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF). Looking across the road, I noticed the shelter opposite strewn with trash left behind from the night before—pizza boxes, Pepsi bottles, and crumpled paper tissues.
Just then, a man riding a bicycle along that side of the street pulled over. I watched as he carefully gathered every piece of litter in his arms. Crossing the road toward the garbage bin right next to where I stood, he muttered loudly to himself, “Some guys don’t know how to manage their food waste!”
Impelled to acknowledge him, I said, “You’re doing a wonderful thing; something most people would never bother to do.”
“Thank you. Good morning,” he replied warmly.
As I wished him back, I asked for his name.
“Wesley,” he said.
I shared my name too and remarked, “You belong to a rare species, Wesley!”
Smiling, he thanked me again, pulled off his right glove, held it in his left hand, and gave me a firm handshake.
“Do you do this every day?” I asked.
“I do,” Wesley answered. “Not at just one spot, though. I ride through different streets, clear up the garbage, and drop it into nearby bins.”
“That’s incredible! Do you mind if I take your photograph?”
“By all means!” he said brightly.
As I snapped the photo, I asked if he would mind if I shared his story on social media.
“Absolutely not,” he replied.
Curious, I asked, “Where do you live?”
With a gentle smile, he hesitated softly. “Well… I don’t have a home.”
His answer caught me completely off guard—a quiet shock that left me speechless. Fearing that probing deeper might hurt or embarrass him, I refrained from asking anything further. Instead, I opened my wallet, pulled out a bill, and held it out to him.
“I’m not a rich man to offer you a fortune, but would you accept this modest token from me?”
Wesley looked at me and said, “I’ll take it, if it’s from the bottom of your heart.”
He accepted the money and embraced me in a warm hug. Crossing the street once more, he mounted his bicycle and pedaled away.
As he rode off, I called out after him, “Let the world cheer your fix-it mojo. Keep going, Wesley!”
Without slowing down, he raised his hand and waved back over his shoulder.
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