A guest post from Joe Loya, screenwriter and author of The Man Who Outgrew His Prison Cell: Confessions of a Bank Robber. We’ve written about him here, and published his previous guest post here.
His newest aperçu from his Los Angeles digs:
A homeless man walked up to me at a gas pump in L.A. His outfit was one dark smudge. He could barely hold up his pants. I was unscrewing my gas cap.
He was ten feet away from me when I heard him gently ask for change. I looked at the guy as I grabbed the pump. He was my height. 30 years younger. 165 pounds lighter. I started gassing up.
“Nah,” I said. “Sorry, but I literally just gave all my change to a homeless man down the block.”
Which was true.
I suppose I didn’t want him to think I was heartless. That’s the only reason I can think of for responding with such an idiotic reply. Selfish and thoughtless. Then he said something I will always remember. He said with absolute genuine solidarity in his voice, “Yeah. I feel ya.”I loved that boney mendicant so hard right then. He tried to let me off the hook.“
“Yeah. I feel ya.” Four darling words.
I laughed for a few minutes when I got in the car because I’m overweight, I got a car, I was driving with a dear loving friend, I’d just eaten two delicious tacos, making money using my creativity, and he said he could feel me.
I’m not certain about much but I’m certain he couldn’t feel much of my life right now.
But in that moment he could feel something. And his kindness — his sweet “Yeah. I Feel Ya” — felt utterly pristine. And a little bit holy.
Some days I love and delight in the human material more than other days.