Dear Anonymous,
We see him across the street. A recognizable gait. Haven't seen him in a year. That day he let me photograph him. Asked me to read a letter from his mom calling him home, calling him to be her dear son. I know he struggles. In the bag we offer him I know he has dry socks now (Thank you) and a poncho, coffee card and a blanket. I know he has his drink too. Because that's where he's at.
We know he may sell that bag later when he needs more to drink. We know it may be stolen when he is too drunk to defend it. And still.