Abstract
ome helped angels, unaware. I met a bum this morning. That's not unusual where I work. Winos in the neighborhood show up in the old building sometimes. Nothing unique about this one. Neither face nor features you would remember. A medium tall man with a dirty blonde stubble beard and a sad face. The kind of face that had seen too much, a face much older than it ought to be. He was dressed like any other working man, just a little worn, a little tired, a little used up. Nothing remarkable about his story either. Just another sad story told without much enthusiasm or hope. He wanted three dollars he said. He knew from the first look he wouldn't get anything. He'd seen that look in people's eyes down here before. It's a hard neighborhood. But he told it anyway. I listened. That's how you play it. A typical sad story. His brother was in the hospital in Ocala, Florida, he said. He just needed three dollars he said to have enough for the bus ticket. He just needed a little help he said. He was down on his luck he said. He hadn't had anything to eat since Tuesday he said. Couldn't I help him out he said. When I looked at him or frowned or
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