📖 Geschichtentext
Last week I walked past the old council building and something in me shifted. There was a sign about a meeting developing next month, but what caught my eye was the man sitting on the steps like a prisoner of paused time, hands wrapped around a paper coffee cup, watching a pharmacy across the street where someone was stepping out with a small bag of medicine. A tired breeze lifted loose papers and for a moment it felt like the city exhaled. I thought about how small decisions — who gets heard at that council table, who gets keys to a shelter — can change ordinary lives. That man could be anyone's father, neighbor, or a future self if we don’t choose compassion. We trade policies, budgets, and deadlines, but the real work is in moments of noticing, in offering a seat, a kind word, or help finding someone who’s developing a plan to get back on their feet. That’s where hope starts.