The Irony and Poignancy of a Novel in my Own Alley

It's awfully hot today, so I only took Rasputin for a short walk this afternoon--down the block and back home via the alley. As we neared the gate off the alley, we came across a young man sitting in the brambles, holding a brown bag from which emerged the top of a large Miller's bottle. He had a full head of wavy, black hair and beautiful dark eyes. His clothes were worn but not shabby. Definitely the most handsome homeless man I'd ever seen and one of the best looking men I've seen of any kind for a long time. There seemed to be a kindness about him. Unlike the chronically homeless I've often met, his consciousness was not solely fixed on survival.

As he and I exchanged friendly glances and I admonished Rasputin to "be nice," I heard young women's voices singing from the porch of the sorority house at the end of the alley and across the street. I continued to walk toward the back gate, but then stopped to listen before passing into the backyard. The sweetness of their song was so incredibly poignant. It was a song of sisterhood and lifelong bonds. It was a song welcoming new girls into the house.

The juxtaposition of the young man whose only friend appeared to be a Miller's bottle and these young girls singing about the emotional bond between them was overwhelmingly clear to me. I glanced down the alley toward the man and saw that he too was looking in the direction of the girls, no doubt feeling the poignancy himself.

I got some juice boxes and four energy bars from my kitchen, walked back to the man, and said that it was so hot today that I was concerned he'd get dehydrated. He motioned to the brown bag and said, "And this isn't helping." I smiled and agreed that it wasn't.