Rebirth Through Adaptation

Darling, you look delicious.

Dear Blog,
There's this man I sometimes see on my many walking adventures across town. He's homeless. I always put some change into his small black hat, that sits in front of him, which would otherwise remain empty. There's something about him that I find intriguing, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. I would imagine his name is Dave. I think Dave suits him. He's remarkably tidy compared to the stereotypical tramp image that is evoked when someone mentions the word homeless. He has grey bristles covering his jaw, but even this doesn't seem unkempt. It seems to suit him, I think. His hair is the same colour, but very short, like his beard and is receding. Occasionally he sits in the underpass I walk through every day, with a quiet dignity that I highly respect, his hat out in front of him. I paused beside him before, whilst struggling to remove some change from my wallet, and he began to talk to me. His voice sounds like the voice of a dad. He looks like a dad a bit. He discusses the weather with me. The weather is of no real concern to me, the temperature drop that sets in as the evening draws on means nothing to me. I am, after all, only pausing by him for a brief moment, before I continue to walk back to my house, turn the fire on and waste away in front of the television.

I saw him again the other day, but as I struggled to remove my change for slightly longer than usual, he talks to me for longer. And more seriously. He has a packet of biscuits in front of him, unopened. I imagine he savours them for before he retires to sleep. Wherever he does sleep. I imagine he rations them out and chews slowly. Patiently letting his saliva melt them away before swallowing. I smile at him as I crouch down to put my change into his still empty little black hat. I tell him to look after himself. Like an order. Like a child. Like he's some kind of pet. I feel stupid immediately for saying it, but he smiles back and says, "You too." He then thanks me. Not for the change, but for stopping. For treating him like a human. As I place my wallet back into my jean pocket and step away from him he adds, "God bless." I find his faith strangely Romantic and turn to reply, "You too," before putting my headphones back into my ears. I then walked home, sat in front of the fire and watched television.