BUMMER-FREE ZONE

A man came walking across the weedy fringes of the woods at the edge of town. From the barber chair I watched him emerge from the woods and stride across the railroad tracks and then turn down Catherine Street before doubling back and crossing Lake Street. He walked aimlessly but alert like one who is looking for something, but is either not sure exactly what or was not sure where it might be found. He had on his face a certain look which inspired kindly strangers to say things like, "You look lost, can I help?," and which inspired the less kindly to avoid him altogether.

"Do you know that fella?," asked the barber. 

"No," I said, "You?"

"No. He looks lost though."

"Yeah, maybe he's looking for something."

"...or somebody," said the barber.