I passed by him regularly. Sitting in front of the coffee shop, thin, bad teeth, broken down, weepy-eyed. I never saw food or drink on his table. He only wanted a place to sit and rest, I suspect. Get out of the heat. One day I stopped and handed him some money. I didn’t say anything. He blinked at me, several times. Tears broke and streamed down his face. He grabbed my hands and squeezed tightly. For a few seconds, he trembled and then brought himself up, wiped away his tears and smiled at me. I said good bye, turned and walked away.