Walking from one Barfly establishment to the next (Stella’s Lounge to HopCat) my friend J.J. and I were approached by a man named Harry Wednesday night.
He was actually a very nice man, and explained to me that he was trying to get into a shelter for the night; I gave him my change, which was only like .78 cents.
But as I pulled out the changed, I brought up my project and asked him what his meaning of life was.
His answer was out of the ordinary.
“Even if I don’t follow mine?”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“I don’t follow my meaning of life,” he said.
“Oh. Sure,” I replied.
“Everyone has a specific job in life.
“Mine is to spread the message of God, to every one else, even if it doesn’t reach me,” he said. “I try to help people out the best I can. If they’re in a worse spot than me, I might give them for a few dollars, and for me, that’s almost everything.”
I’m conflicted, because I never like to give money to homeless people, I much prefer to buy food for them. But it was a quick conversation and I made him promise me he wouldn’t buy booze with it.
He said of course not and promised he’d use it for the right reasons, but who knows. He certainly didn’t seem insincere.
When I asked him what he thought of others who turn around and use money to buy booze, he told me he doesn’t share opinions. They only cause trouble.
That could go any number of ways.