I CALLED A NUMBER MY GRANDPA GAVE ME—THEN THE PARK WENT SILENT The first insult wasn’t about his age. It was his skin. “Yo,” the biggest one sneered, blocking the sun with his shadow. “What is that, Grandpa? A pigeon with mange?” That’s when I looked up from the food truck and saw him. Arthur. Same old man, same Thursday routine: black coffee, hot dog, exact change. Same bench, same nod. Like clockwork. But today was different. It was ninety degrees. His shirt was unbuttoned. That’s when they sa