Dear Anonymous,
He would look somewhat like this, head bowed to the ground, hood up, bent over as if the weight of life sat on his back. Trudging up the street.
Stopping to say hello, he brightens with his unforgettable smile. A sunrise from a dark pre dawn. Socks are tucked into his backpack. A coffee card happily accepted. Not taking anything more than he needs. I can smell the alcohol. I can feel the weight.He always makes me smile.
Another man refuses a piece of blueberry cake, he says 'I got my cake.' and gestures by lifting a plastic shopping bag containing a big bottle of amber liquid. 'I like it warm.' he says.
Tales of addiction. Tales of grief. Tales of 'I'm gonna try again....'. Tales of choices. Sometimes tales of disease. Tales of the people.