16 March 2011. Even gray skies, moist air, muddled yellow ball of sun somewhere behind...
Late at night, in the rain, San Pablo Avenue, pulling in on a quick vector to curb in front of studio building, planning to drop off the morning's supplies. There under under the doorway soffit, a figure asleep in damp plaid bag, gear close all around. He looks up, seeing my approach, scraggly red-brown beard, brows the same, sharp eyes not without anxiety/suspicion. "Just stay put, I'll step over over...," reaching forward with key in hand to unlock the swinging glass door. Inside dark, I leave my things, take the one banana on bead-woven Puerto Rico tray, and a single golden apple--handing them to him as I leave. He reaches up. "Will that be good," I ask? Cracked voice, "Well, I can eat the banana, but I can't chew the apple." Opens his mouth to show me the four remaining teeth...
"Do you have fifty cents so I can wash my clothes...?"
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