Aged by the outdoors, his face and his car, the two of them equally weathered. Blue-checked shirt with holes, collar up, tails out. Dinged blue Datsun, ancient, rusted. Odds are strong they sleep together, parked overnight near Natural Bridges, or somewhere equally dark, and out of the way.
Drives himself to Goodwill to play the piano.
One hour, two hours.
Christmas songs, show tunes, TV themes, standards. Lost in his fingers.
Bashful. Is he bothering anyone?
Not me. I'm happy for the company, writing sketches with my laptop while my friend shops.
He's through for the day. Applaud, smile. "Thank you!" I tell him. "I enjoyed your playing very much."