The butter was melting and the popcorn was popping as Jamison waited on my living room couch. It's not often I get to inflict my Asian passion on someone. Today he was going to meet one of the all time great film characters: the blind swordsman Zatoichi.
I was hoping to provide something I rarely got during my own homeless bouts: a reprieve from the constant bombardment of scorn and soulless judgments. It felt almost too good to be true, that somehow God was slipping up to let this slide through the net of daily torment.
And I wasn't being completely selfish: Jamison already loved samurai films.
I put the popcorn down in front of him when:
"Man, I can't do this. I gotta go."
I knew that disturbed, lost tone - I've used it myself. But I had to say something.
"Dude, you're homeless! Where you gotta go?"
"I just do. Got too much on my mind."
I was hoping to provide something I rarely got during my own homeless bouts: a reprieve from the constant bombardment of scorn and soulless judgments. It felt almost too good to be true, that somehow God was slipping up to let this slide through the net of daily torment.
And I wasn't being completely selfish: Jamison already loved samurai films.
I put the popcorn down in front of him when:
"Man, I can't do this. I gotta go."
I knew that disturbed, lost tone - I've used it myself. But I had to say something.
"Dude, you're homeless! Where you gotta go?"
"I just do. Got too much on my mind."
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