Jerome

Today I met Jerome during my lunch break. He's 56 years old and said he has been living on the streets "a long, long time." Jerome was skeptical of me for a few minutes, until he quickly discovered we had some things in common. Jerome grew up on a farm and he loved the fact that I know how to milk cows. We both complained about our time spent doing early morning chores when we lived on farms. It turns out we also share a love of spring flowers and the promise of warmer days to come. He joked about how the ladies keep telling him he needs a haircut. I told him it looked perfect "as is" and that they often say the same thing to me. As we parted, Jerome extended a hand, curled by arthritis and black from the streets. "Glad we had the chance to talk," he said. I'm glad, too.