Characters.

There are two prominent homeless men in my town. One guy I call Rastaman (although Richard calls him Creole Jack Sparrow). The other one I haven't invented a name for because he's always drunk and his eyes scare me. They both kind of just walk around aimlessly. Occasionally, you'll find them sleeping on the ground in random places. Rastaman is usually accompanied by a dog with giant cow-like udders, but I've also seen him more than once sleeping among an entire pack of strays.

I think I know where they live, because one morning I was walking on the beach and I saw some make-shift tents on a patch of grass behind the cemetery. I guess if you're homeless it's not so bad of a place to live.

I usually try to give them money, but the drunk guy seems pissed if you don't have more than 5 euros, and someone told me they walked by Rastaman one night on main street having too much fun with himself. It kinda scared me off. Then I started thinking I should bring them food, but I don't know if it would be welcome or insulting.

The last time I came across Rastaman was at the outdoor market last Wednesday. My friend said she heard he used to be a successful business owner, but then he started smoking something weird that made him crazy. He never asks for anything, unlike the drunk guy. He just stands around in his long baggy pants with those thick dreads pouring out from under his hat like cactus branches, and watches this silly life go by.

I've wondered more than once if it's really him who is crazy,
or if it's us.