Downtown beggar waiting by the ATM catches my eyesmells of drink,doesn’t act as though he’s better than I am,calls me “sir,”says “God bless you,” though I don’t give him any change.I’ve been toldif you give them cash they can use it to buy liquorwhen what they needis to stop drinking, get a job, and stop botheringpeople like me.Yet here is a person like myself but whose belongingsare likely to beless than what I have in my pocket.When Jesus saidto sell everything and give the money to the poorwas he thinkingof someone like this alcoholic gentleman?A pocket full of change won’t answer these questionsand a conversationis more than I will offer a beggar on the street.I can’t cure a beggar of his fearor a banker of his guilt.I leavelike a burglar with empty handshaving enteredthrough an open door.I don’t cause anyone trouble.I studythe soft sell. No one owes me their money.Most peoplearen’t generous. I have to find their hidden weakness.When I see a guytowed from store to store by a wife and her dog,and his clothesare too tight, I feel sorry for him.People think, “If only I were free,” but it takesa special talentfor disregarding the obvious.You tell me—What’s more important? A regular income,or living without stress?A wife and kids to love? Or having space to be yourself.Food to make you fat?Or enough hunger to sharpen your mind?Some people payfor adventure, but I get it free. Risky behaviorsare part of my life,but I know what I’m doing; I’m a professional.So what if I drinka little too much? You have to takea man’s weaknesseswith his strengths. It’s not easyto accept reality.When you squash a real person, he doesn’t bounce backlike a character in a cartoon.People who talk about it but who can’t see it for what it ismake me sick.