Zack

When I met Zack his hands were black. He had dark chin-length matted hair with one thin braid at the side of his head. He looked to be in his 40s but it is hard to tell.

It was obvious to me that he was living this life the way he wants to be livin’ it. Free. He was outgoing and seemed happy and content. Glad that we brought warm food on that cold day but I got the idea he wouldn't have changed his schedule to make sure he would be under the overpass to receive it.

He told us that he had just spent some time over at the Truck Stop polishing the trucker’s tires for money. (Ah! The black hands!) He explained how you have to do a good job but not to do too good a job. You know, so they’ll want you to do it the next time they’re comin’ though.