Black Toby

There's a man I pass on the street pretty regularly who appears to be homeless and talks to himself incessantly, sometimes pacing as he does so. I see how people skirt him, looking down, scared of what he'll do. I can feel the gentle soul that this man is when I pass, so I greet him with, "Hey buddy, how ya doin'?" and he responds, "Fine, fine, sweetheart." while nodding his head politely. Today, I decided I was tired of wanting to talk to him and stopped first at the supermarket. I grabbed us both a bottle of water and sat down next to him. I made a "Phew, it's hot" kind of comment and offered him a bottle. He accepted and the conversation I have wanted for so long began. An hour later, I had his whole life story, beginning with foster care in Cincinnati. He thanked me profusely as I wrapped up the conversation. He was overwhelmed with emotion that such a nice lady would take the time to let him talk, because that's all he wants. "I don't need money!" he insisted. He said he's tired of people thinking that is what he wants. He welcomed me to sit down and chat with him anytime. Black Toby, as he prefers to be called, it will be my pleasure.