That evening, as I got my older coat out of the closet and put it into a bag, more thoughts than I'd really anticipated started to come up.

How would I give Moses the coat in a way that he'd be likely to accept it?  From what I'd seen of him, he'd probably respond to smiley do-gooderism in about the same way he'd respond to an invitation to break out in hives.

Yet I’d have to say more when I gave him the coat than just "Here."

Actually, I wanted to say more.  But how might a conversation develop?

Where might it lead?

The hour was late, and I had to get to sleep.  Still, the thoughts kept coming.

Eventually, some got a little odd.

I realized, for example, that when I spoke to Moses, if he spoke back, I would be hearing his voice for the first time.  What if he had a mossy-side-of-the-Ozarks hick accent?  What if he sounded like Gomer Pyle?  Could I really handle that? From Moses?

I also thought of the Chinese custom that if you save somebody's life, you're responsible for him from that point on:  you've interfered with fate, and you have to take fate's place.  Was I prepared to take on that kind of responsibility?

Finally I said the hell with it.  The man was cold;  that much was obvious.   I could give him a coat, and I would do it.  I went to sleep.