"Here, take this," I told Ferret this morning. "It is a hand warmer. It kept my hands toasty warm all during my homeless days. It feels great down your front pocket."
"Thanks," Ferret said grabbing it. "It is already warm."
"I lit it before I left the house. Should be good for another six hours or so."
Sometimes it's the little things that mean the most when your homeless. Warm hands on a cold day. Hot, nourishing food in your belly. And yes, beer for what ails you if I must digress.
It was cold this morning. The kind of damp cold that seeps into your bones. So cold that Big S didn't make an appearance at the shopping center. Ferret was sitting down there, though.
"How did you sleep?" I asked him living vicariously through his words. He is living the homeless life I have often dreamed of.
"My sleeping bag is warm, but that damn ground is hard," Ferret replied.
"Throw the sleeping bag in a dryer up at the laundromat for a quarter," I told him. "It will be nice and warm when you unfold it and get in."
"You know your shit," Ferret said lighting a cigarette. "You really were homeless."
"I actually learned that on the Internet reading a homeless man's website," I replied.
Ferret left me to go get some lunch. I walked down to the train tracks to catch a passing freight. I've got to quit wandering aimlessly through life, I thought to myself. I wander down to the shopping center and waste time. Hopefully, vocational rehabilitation will put me to work in a few weeks.