Moses of G Street (7)

I woke up the next morning more apprehensive than I'd been the night before.

I boarded my usual bus and went into town.  In the crowds, the bag proved to be a colossal encumbrance.  It seemed to add about two feet to my normal body width;   made it difficult to maneuver, difficult to just forget about it.

I got off the bus, started walking, reached the corner across the street from Moses' doorway.

It occurred to me that maybe I was too late.  Last night had been even colder than the night before.  Maybe I would find myself dumbly presenting a raincoat to a frozen corpse.

I looked across the street.

Moses was still there.  On his feet.  Alive.

My relief lasted only a moment.

He noticed me looking at him—the way that people always notice when they're being looked at.

The light changed, and I crossed the street in his direction.  As I reached him, I trotted out my prepared speech.  I said, "Excuse me, but it's pretty cold.   You could use a coat.  Would you take this?"  I held the bag out toward him.