Dear Anonymous,
'Have any shoes?' he asks.
What size?
'9 and a half.'
I don't have any today.
He shows me his right foot. The sole and heel are gone from his construction boots.
'Sole-less. Like me.' he says.
'Hardly without soul.' I say and then he beams this smile no mask can hide.
It has been pouring rain. Guys out here with sneakers have wet feet. They can't wait to get dry socks.
A new book for The Reader. Coffee cake. Coffee cards.
'Hey, you don't smoke but you got a light?'
I am grateful I do.
It is breezy. I cup my hands around the hesitant flame of an old lighter I found in my emergency gear. He leans in to light his cigarette. The cigarette trembles in his mouth. I notice he keeps his hands in his pocket for the most part and when he grasps the cigarette between two fingers they are shaking too.
I am soleless.' he said.