Homeless but homey

There are two guys who work for the building next door. I think they're homeless---or maybe not homeless, exactly, but I think they might sleep curled up next to the trash area at night behind the locked door---it amounts to the same thing.

Usually I come home to find them sitting in the doorway, splitting a paperbagged-bottle between them.

Or they'll be hauling trash out from their little door, sweat running down their faces.

They do little things for our block, too. Take away the circulars left on renters' doorsteps, pull in anything that needs to be recycled on the block and put it back out in recycling shape. Sometimes they ask me for a few dollars. I usually say no. Politely.

Tonight, coming home, one of the men smiled at me as he always does, and asked how I was.

I replied as I always do: "I'm fine, thanks. How are you today?"

Tonight he said: "Better, darling, now that I know you're home safe."

I laughed. He slapped his knee, and said, "Now that's what I was looking for."