You never know when he'll show up. You'll hear the old man croaking away, mangling chords on his guitar, sometimes in front of the bakery, sometimes down the block. He's sort of banged up looking, slouched over his old guitar with his begging cup down by his case. He can't see or sing or play, but I love that old man and the racket he makes. It's hard to understand him except for the occasional 'Jesus," but once I thought I heard something like this:

I've got a friend says the old man has been around since she could remember. He'd be in front of a Roses store, which is long gone. But not him…he's like an old stump. I give him a dollar every time I can, which ain't often.

Women do not sit on unfamiliar toilet seats unless they feel safe and "at home." We don't. I never sit down in movie theatres or shopping malls. So when I did not hesitate to sit right down when my daughter and I were visiting Guilford College, I knew this was a good sign. And when the melon balls at the brunch were all ripe, I was clear that people here were paying attention. We walked by a plaque that noted the campus as the home of the Underground Railroad. The big picture and the minutiae matched.