A warning…this is not a happy post.
I’m in Starbucks where there’s a homeless man, with no legs, in a wheelchair, parked in the center of the room.
It’s freezing out, so Haley and Kim, the two early baristas, let him stay, because how could you not in true conscience.
I watch a good 15 people come and go and not one of them look his way, and trust me, they see him because, how could you not.
He’s like an ad for a trip to Lourdes.
He’s four tables behind where I’m sitting as I squirm feeling his presence. I finally get up to ask if he’d like coffee, the one thing the girls don’t do.
This is cruel, but I’m sure it’s like feeding a stray dog…it will come back at dinner time.
He mumbles yes, he’d like a cup.
“How do you take it,” I ask.
“Five sugars and milk.”
This man’s dignity is so non-existent, he can’t even look at me as snot runs down his nose.
Takes everything I have not to cry.
I get his coffee, fixing it, before putting napkins in his ice cold hands whispering, “Wipe your nose.”
As I watch him obey like a little kid, I think…
There but for the grace of God, go I.