I first met Bob the bum as he rolled out a foam mat in my office building’s lobby.
I was heading to a local pub for a bite to eat with four coworkers after having Friday post-work beers upstairs. We were all laughing, riding a steady buzz as we rounded the last flight of stairs leading into the lobby.
“Hey, man. You can’t sleep in here. They’re going to kick you out.”
The old man looked up at me. The wrinkles on his face blended to form deep crevices until a smile emerged. “Oh, sorry. I was just going to relax for a minute. I’ll be on my way right now.” He began hurriedly rolling up his mat, looking up every other second with a smile. My coworkers and I stepped out into the crisp February winter. I zipped my jacket right up to my chin, and watched as the condensation from my breath rose toward the street lights. I kept checking back over my shoulder waiting for the homeless man to emerge from the front doors.



