Thank God for parking garages

Today I shamelessly ate lunch without my shirt on while sitting on a bench downtown. As I was soaking up some rays and obtaining sustinence, a homeless guy came around the corner and remarked how good the sun felt compared to the freezing rain he had to endure last night. "Thank God for parking garages," he declared. Not something one usually sends praises to a deity for, I thought.

He proceeded to find a dry seat on a bench across from me and tell me his story. Hailing from Naples, Florida, he was trying to get to Branson because he wrote song lyrics. That's what he "does." His pen name is Dudley Ditty, "cuz that's all I write are ditties." He'd been hitch-hiking trying to avoid the "crazies that'll kill ya, and the fundamentalist Christians, which are almost as bad!"

After a bit more jawing in his raspy voice, he asked if I could spare a few bucks so he could buy a beer. Usually I don't give money to panhandlers, but he didn't try to fool me with a sob story. He probably needed the beer like he needed another wrinkle on his worn-out face, but I gave him three bucks. Maybe I'll be inspiration for one of his "ditties."