There was a sad and empty look in his eyes. The curl in his lips and the speed of his words let me know that he’d scored meth recently.
I let him tell me a story about his recent arrest. How he’d cursed at the women who works at the fast food joint over there. She’d repeatedly told him that her workplace wasn’t his home, apparently pushing his buttons until he gave her a reason to call the police.
I asked if he’d been warm the night before, knowing that no one sleeping outside could possibly have been warm. He said he was a survivor, and that the cold and snow wasn’t going to get him.
As he thanked me for listening, I dropped a dollar and a few coins into his open hand. Walking away, I asked the universe to keep him alive… feeling a little guilty to be heading home.
— leest1 —