He smelled so bad, I could not come close enough to shoot. But he still looked like he had dignity. He complained that the yellow jackets poured out his beer as he sat in front of the Methodist Church with the permission of the Pastor. His time be running thin. Will he realize it? Who knows. He didn’t last summer.
“No one wants to help me,” he complained. “I can’t get a pair of pants or a pair of shoes.” “Not so,” I replied. “No one wants to help you in this condition. That’s all. You are wearing pants I got for you.”
