Here's something new!


Friends

She had seen him every morning, walking to work, or to the library, or even just down to the convenience store to get some coffee. She always gave him a cup, and sat for a moment with him, even though he smelled of old things that long gone unwashed. They talked about anything, as long as it wasn't boring or awkward. Nothing was too personal; she told him about her relationships with the Russian man who hated dogs, and he would smile, nod, and show her the bit of Russian he knew from school. "Nyet," When she offered him her coffee once the bus to her office arrived. She'd wave, and not feel childish for it, because he'd wave back.

Friends. That's what they were. On his birthday, she took him to a thrift store, and she bought him a suit, a cassette tape player and books. He cried on the way home, and it was then she realized the homeless man whose name she didn't know was a wonderful man.


Then he died. He was an addict, he was a drunk, and he was in his fifties. He had no home, and one night he just...left.

She spent nights outside, listening to music and crying, and wishing he'd gone to a shelter.
But would it have helped? Maybe. Maybe. But she knew he would not have thrived there. She knew what they were like.

And sometimes she still sat on that corner, drank coffee, and watched the people go by.
Remembering her friend.