The homeless man stepped with half-worn, half-soled shoes; another not-homeless friend ensured I knew since I love to pick up shoes for those whose feet are tired, achy, and worn. So, I bought a pair to bring to the street the other night and met up with the man, a friend who spends a lot of time mad at me due to his outbursts.
As he took the shoes, he started picking them apart— the type, the fabric, the sole, the color, even how “cheap” they looked. The gift wasn’t what he expected, and he ensured I knew it.
He shoved the shoebox toward me and grabbed it. I assured him the shoes would be great for walking, but he stormed off, upset that I hadn’t met all his requirements.
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