Lunch with a homeless man

I update blogs as I travel, including information about where I’m traveling to. So, it wasn’t really a surprise to have a guy from Texas drop me a line saying “When you come through this area, I’d welcome the opportunity to shake hands with my favorite author.” He gave me his phone number and I agreed that I’d give him a call.

I thought I’d arrange to meet him the first time I went into town, but the checkup my cardiologist wanted me to have stretched into most of the day as it started with an EKG and then the doctor down here wanted to get some lab tests and have me get an echocardiogram. Everything, by the way, checked out fine. It turns out that I’m not retaining water. I’m retaining food. Got to get a handle on what I’m eating.

That put me in the middle of evening traffic getting back home and when I checked my map, I discovered the coordinates he’d given me were all the way on the opposite end of town from where my appointments had been. But I enjoy meeting readers and set up to meet him for lunch Saturday. I thought it was a little strange that he repeated his coordinates again rather than suggesting someplace between us as it was 45 miles away from me. But I’m out here to see the country and I was happy for the adventure. His last phrase, however, was “I’m in the black truck with solar panels in the Lowes parking lot.”

So, he wanted to meet me someplace other than home. I could only imagine he lived even more remotely.

Not so. He lived in his black pickup (smaller than mine) with solar panels attached to the windshield. I suggested we grab a sandwich and he jumped in the truck with me and we went about a block away to a sandwich shop.

“Tell me about yourself.”

“I took care of my mom until about two years ago when she passed away. I didn’t know funerals were so expensive. I’ve been living in the truck since then, waiting for my pension to kick in next year.”

He was a nice guy and had read about everything I’ve written under both my author names. We chatted about different places in the country and the stories we’d been told. He had some interesting ideas when I described a science fiction story I’m contemplating writing. Aside from living in his truck in a parking lot he didn’t match up with any of the stereotypes I’ve allowed my mind to make up regarding the homeless. He was clean. His clothes were clean. His eyes were clear.

He told me he could live on $350 a month, not including the storage cubicle where he stored his mother’s things. I can empathize with the latter as my storage cubicle also costs $150 a month beyond my normal expenses. We each bought our own lunches, though his lunch was a bit smaller than mine. They were both under $10. Which tells me he didn’t eat in restaurants often if he could live on $350 a month.

I don’t even know what I want to say I learned from the encounter. I’m still piecing it together. Should I have bought his lunch? Should I have offered him a buck before I left? Should I have investigated his life more fully? He thanked me for looking him up when I came through town and we parted ways.