I’m eating a sandwich in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s
when a homeless guy appears on my wife’s side of the car.
When she rolls down the window I say to him,
“What can I do for you?”
Looking at my sandwich he says, “I’m very hungry. Can you help me?”
Putting my sandwich down, I take out my wallet, hand him two ones
and say, “This should get you something at Trader Joe’s—good luck!”
I continue eating my sandwich when all of a sudden it hits me.
“What the hell is wrong with me!” I say to my wife.
Why didn’t I give him the other half of my sandwich!”
My wife responds, “You could still catch him if you wanted to!”
With that I get out of my car and see him standing in front Joe’s
begging for money.
“Here!” I say, and hand him the other half.
He looks at me and asks, “Is it a good sandwich?”
“Is it good!” I say to him, “It’s chicken with pesto.
It’s the best you’ll ever eat!”
When I get in my car my wife asks if he appreciated getting the sandwich.
To which I answer, “I don’t know. I’d have to ask him.
I get the sense that he has very selective taste. . .”
-copyr. 2017 by Jeff Zable
[This piece originally appeared in Tower Journal, 2016]