Staggering through streets lined by maples
Filled hours prior with revelers
Now mostly barren, save for one man
A sidewalk, and me
Weathered and wearing his shelter
Shoes unmistakably fastened and striding
As his meek voice timidly prattled
I slurred "what the hell are you doing?"
Patting him down before he got in my car
We drove to his church's mission
50 years old
He's from St. Louie, saw his sister a ways back
Dead mother, spectrous father
Six foot 140
Likes it here