he told me that his biggest pet peeve is when his nails get long, he was grateful to own a pair of nail clippers.  he called his peers street people, not homeless.  and his neighbors are indians, not native americans.  i thought it important to remember that.  we discussed liberace, las vegas, and family.  i bummed a cigarette and after deliberation decided not to offer to pay him for it.  we dangled our feet and twisted off dead branches from the shrub in front of us.  we knew we were safe, yet both of us couldn't help look over our shoulders to the left, watching to see if we were still alone.  there was a fair share of the matters of fact, and there was even more story retold.  his memory is remarkable.  absolutely remarkable.  his face is weathering into a leathery bronze and his beard without trimming is bone white.  his sweat smells like summer drinking, an empty beer bottle warmed from sunshine.  but i can't tell if it's from earlier that day or from years ago.  theres a calm energy where there was once an impatience, an intolerance for agitates. you can't very well sweat the small stuff when there's all this surviving to do.