of fig newtons & the hobo

across the alley from my office building is a small market that sells snacks, ice cream, cokes, and deli sandwiches. one of the most important things they sell is fig newtons, and today, the newtons were calling me.

i peeked outside & saw that it was not raining, so i headed for the back door - the quickest way across the alley. this back door is in an alcove, and in this alcove was a man, sheltering his burning cigarette from the wind while keeping one hand on his junk-laden cart. i said, hello and excuse me as i tried to get past him without bumping his cart. not that his cart was particularly dirty or wet, but i am sort of leery because you never know with these people. "these" people... hm.... i generally use the term "hobo" because it is quaint & nostalgic, but there is really nothing quaint or nostalgic about living out of a metal cart. you never know how someone might react to your jostling of his what is essentially his home. but, this man was quite peaceful & reserved. he said hello and went back to his cigarette.

while i was at the market, along with my fig newtons, i picked up some of my favorite snack crackers - the orange ones with peanut butter - and a liter bottle of water. i thought if he were there when i came back by, i would give the hobo a snack. he was there, and i did give him the meager food & water, and he said thank you & have a merry christmas. i wished i had gotten more, but at the same time, i do not know the protocol of the streets and do not know how much is too much. he was not bleary eyed or staggering - he appeared to be sober, to be a man simply down on his luck, perhaps for quite a while.

i am inordinatly proud of having accomplished the stellar feat of bringing this hobo some snack crackers & water. i wonder what it must be like to have to rely on the kindness of overly-proud strangers, as they deign to hand you something less than they would consider a small meal.