Three Questions to a Homeless Man Before My Surprising Offer
On a dreary downtown stroll one late afternoon, amid rushing crowds, a homeless man caught my eye by the grocery corner—threadbare coat, battered shoes, graying beard.
Wallet in hand, I fingered a ten-dollar bill, pausing to probe.
Casual query: “This for food, or beer?”
Tired gaze met mine, unoffended: “Quit drinking years back.” Off-balance.
Follow-up: “Fishing gear over dinner?”
Breath-laugh, head-shake: “No time—survival fills days.”
Last shot: “Hunting supplies then?”
Stunned stare: “Crazy? Haven’t hunted in decades!”
Pieces clicked. Bill pocketed.
“No cash then,” I declared.
Confusion flickered.
“But come home with me—hot shower, fresh towel, table seat, home-cooked feast by my wife.”
Shock widened eyes: “She’ll rage at stranger invite?”
Grin: “Nah—she needs to witness a man post-alcohol, rods, rifles.”
