Back in my first days in DC, while it was still cold, I spotted an old bearded Afghan man with crutches selling wool caps outside the Dupont Circle North Metro escalator. I bought a cap from him to keep my head warm, and would buy at least one more from him later that year. The old man and his family were a fixture in that location, selling hats and scarves and umbrellas and sunglasses. I never knew their names, but as I frequently bought and lost these loose weather accessories, I was grateful for their vending stall, so conveniently located along my route to work.
His name was Sakhi Gulestan, and while he was a poor man materially, he was rich in spirit. Here’s a City Paper article on his life and death. (Note: There’s an annoying slideshow with audio narration autoplaying on load, so the first thing you’ll want to do is scroll to the bottom and turn it off so you can read.)