Slim Differences

Muleskinner Journal/April 2024

I noted the decrepit state of Mr. Talbot’s shoes before stepping over his legs, a motion I’d performed for over a year. He slept in my shop’s doorway, as he did every night, mostly because I no longer tried to stop him. 

“Mr. Talbot,” I said, always very respectful, “It’s time to get up.” I tugged at his arm. 

It’s not like I was afraid to touch a homeless man.  I made a point of it.

Not very long ago, after engaging him in several conversations, I learned that Mr. Talbot and I were not very different. We were only two years apart in age, divorced, college graduates. We’d both lived in Newburgh our entire lives. Talbot said his mother bought their entire family shoes at Fogarty’s. She knew my father. And we were both recovered addicts, although different addictions, and he was not totally recovered, like me. 

No, we were not as different as I originally hoped.