I want to be clear about something: I did not go to jail. Not during this outing. I feel that needs to be stated upfront, because what I’m about to tell you could go sideways real fast if you jump ahead.
It started the way most of my adventures do, with my good intentions and zero warning signs. I’d just bought Gatorade and Hostess cakes for the folks I’d be visiting downtown as part of street ministry. Feeling righteous. Feeling purposeful. Heading to my car in the parking lot like a law-abiding, tax-paying citizen of these United States.
That’s when he rolled up. An older gentleman, white-haired and distinguished, was steering an electric wheelchair right next to my vehicle. His cart was overflowing with groceries, and he was slowly unfolding from the chair, standing a little crookedly beside his car door.
