There was that crazy guy again, this time wandering down the other side of the street, his crooked body slanted to the left, ten steps, and then to the right, ten steps, repeat cycle.
He looked in worse shape than usual, and I was really tempted to escort him back home. But he didn't have a real home, his simple abode was in a room at the end of the street at the home for the mentally disabled.
Sometimes he mumbles at me, other times he just waves. After all these years we have become distant friends who recognize each other when our paths intersect.
He one the one side of the road and me on the other.