The lame, the halt and the blind

My route too and from work is usually the same. The way home at the end of the day is uphill. If I was a man I'd no doubt be able to tell the incline, they seem to know such things, suffice to say, it's steep.
On the first section, as I drive up the road, coming toward me on the left is a gentleman, probably around my age. He has only one leg and walks with crutches. I've seen him, rain or shine, for about the last twenty years and presumably he's had the same job in all that time. It must be tough going up-hill to work in the morning. I often wonder if he's going to catch a train or if he lives in the home around the corner, peopled by mostly paraplegics who I believe, go out to work and care for themselves.
I see one of the resident ladies late afternoon, on her way home from work in her speedy wheelchair, racy and low slung.
Continuing up the street, heading for home on the righthand side of the road are the blind man and his (presumably) work mate. He's a big man and the two of them march down the road at a pretty hectic pace, all the while looking happy to be on their way.
On up to the main road, a left turn and then at the right turn, the really, really steep hill.
A few years back a group of young boys (I promise, only boys would do this) would leap on to their skateboards at the top of the hill, careen the 500 or so metres to the main road, a quick glance to each side and another 700 or so metres to the next big intersection. I'm guessing they're the reason the council put in two huge speed bumps - sleeping policemen.
The ladies who walk down this hill on their way home from work come in all shapes and sizes. Most of them appear to have had a busy day and from work to public transport is probably around 3 kms, no joke when it's your daily commute.
Yesterday in the scorching heat (38c) a rather plump lady was speeding down the pavement. You know how it is on an incline, you sort of pick up speed the further you go. She had a piece of kitchen paper that she was holding to her forehead. I think it was wet when she left work but by now it was bone dry and crumpled but still she held it tightly.
I do admire these folk. I don't suppose they view their lives as anything special but they seem to cope rather well, on the outside, with adversity and what life has thrown their way. I hope each of them has at least one person waiting to welcome them when they walk in the door after a busy day, they deserve it.