Fresh Socks

I heard the shopping cart approach as I was walking Jasper (and guest dog Max) through the fringe of the Poverty Ridge neighborhood. The homeless man pushing the cart approached and offered me a bottle of water. I refused - I had no need of it. He insisted, and persisted. "For the dogs," he said. The dogs didn't need the water either, but I accepted (thinking not to touch anything else with my left hand until I had a chance to wash it, these Covid days).

I had trouble understanding his slightly-slurred speech. It wasn't because of his mask (which hung uselessly around his chin). He was about 35 years of age, with a mustache, and some slight walking disability. The impression I gathered was of a shambling, sweet, simple-mindedness.

I understood he was traveling to the vicinity of 21st and J Street. "They gave me the water and these new socks at SSU," as he waved the socks in the air. I didn't understand the acronym. He was moving in the opposite direction from 21st and J. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe that's where he was coming from.

We had a shambling conversation, and he pushed on. He called out to a homeowner sitting out on his porch on the opposite side of the street and talked with him for a bit. Then the homeless man rolled back to my side to report on the conversation. "I asked him if he had a shovel, so I could dig my own grave," he said. Waving the socks again, he triumphantly said, "But at least I'll be in fresh socks!" He accidentally dropped his sacks of cans for recycling, then picked them up again, and moved on. I lost track of him around 24th Street and the W-X Freeway.