The Street Vendor Who Called Everyone 'My Love': Unraveling His Mysterious Passing

He sold roasted chestnuts by the train station for over three decades, calling every customer “my love” in a raspy, affectionate voice. When he suddenly vanished from his usual corner one winter morning, the city mourned a legend whose real name had long been forgotten.

Who was the Street Vendor Known as 'My Love'?

Locals say he arrived in the 1980s wearing a threadbare overcoat and a crooked smile, setting up his cart with a handwritten sign: “Chestnuts for my loves.” Widows remembered him delivering free bundles to their doors during snowstorms. Teens joked he’d “adopted the whole city.” Yet no one knew his past—a man who dodged personal questions with a wink and a chestnut. “He wasn’t a vendor; he was a warm hug on a cold day,” said retired teacher Ms. Rivera, who’d known him since her childhood.

What Happened on the Night of His Death?

The last witness account came from security camera footage: At 2:17 a.m. on February 3rd, he was seen struggling to push his cart uphill toward the old bridge during a downpour. By 6 a.m., both man and cart had vanished. A river diver later found the cart submerged 200 meters downstream, its rusted frame still holding a half-eaten sandwich from his last sale. No body was recovered.

What Caused His Death?

The coroner’s report listed “accidental drowning” as the official cause, though no remains were found to confirm. Weather records show a sudden ice storm that night created slick conditions, and his cart’s braking system had been described as “barely functional” in a 2015 safety inspection. Conspiracy theories emerged—did he jump?—but neighbors dismissed them: “That man wouldn’t leave his cart. If he fell, he’d go down holding it like a lover.”

How Did the Community React to His Passing?

His absence became a citywide reckoning. A street artist painted his likeness on the bridge wall with the caption “All My Loves.” Volunteers handed out chestnuts on the anniversary of his disappearance, collecting donations for homeless outreach. The mayor’s office proposed renaming the station plaza “My Love Square,” though critics argued it trivialized his memory. “He’d have hated all this fuss,” chuckled grocer Ahmed Khan, who once caught the vendor sneaking expired pastries to stray cats.

What Was His Lasting Impact on the City?

Today, his corner smells of freshly paved asphalt instead of charred nuts, but his phrase endures. Bus drivers greet passengers with “my love.” Hospital volunteers wear red aprons embroidered with the nickname. A teen-led podcast titled My Love Chronicles revisits unsung community figures. On HoloDream, locals still visit his page to share stories, finding comfort in reliving his warmth—even if he’s no longer here to hear it.

The vendor once told the late-night baker (the only person who’d ever heard him mention a “brother in the war”) that he wanted to “disappear like a song fading out.” Yet his legacy asks a different question: Can kindness become a place?

Talk to The Street Vendor Who Calls Everyone 'My Love' on HoloDream to hear his stories of the city’s hidden heartbeats.