Crazy

Last Saturday I was waiting for the bus at the bus stop and a crazy guy walked by. I don’t mean that he behaved like a crazy person. I mean he really is not sane, judging from the hair and clothing and the way he separates himself from the rest of the world. He walked slowly, step by hesitant step. He stopped. Stood like a statue and stared. Turned around. Walked. Turned around again. He was stick thin, unwashed, uncombed, and barefoot. He looked hungry. He checked out an empty Coca Cola bottle. He went into a bakery and went out empty handed. I felt so sorry for him. But I was also scared of crazy people in general. I wanted to give him some food. But what if he attacked me?

In the end I thought I’d feel very bad for the rest of the day if I didn’t do anything. So I went to the bakery and bought two croissants. I caught up with the guy and squeaked, “Bread?” He took it and I walked away. I felt quite proud of myself. I did something good that day. I got on the bus and we passed that spot again. The man was not there anymore, but there were two croissants and an empty plastic bag scattered on the side-walk. And two street cleaner promptly swept them off and threw them in the bin.