_{Styled after =Nullermanden's portrait series.}

~

This is Frasier. He situates himself near here. He's not like most of the homeless or alcoholics I come across. Every time I walk by he shouts in a cheerful and gravelly tone, "How ya doin sir?", always with a smile. He hides his beer and stays quiet when women or children walk by, offering a respectful nod and "Have a good day, ma'am."

I'd seen him often times and always gave him a wave and a grin going by.
One day I walk out of the liquor store he sits beside, sit down next to him and hand him a beer. "Well, that's mighty tall of you, sir, cheers!"

For the next half hour he regaled me with thoughts. Frasier's been to jail, been out of jail, been on the streets and in alleys. He has ideals and ideologies.


"Ya know what I'm saying, doncha, young man?"
I nod.
"Do you? Cuz you look like you're sort of lost." A case of malt liquor doesn't slow Frasier's perceptions.
'It's just a lot to think about...' I shiver.
"Look at you, in a leather jacket and already you're cold. Looka this shirt I'm wearin. Aaa, but I know what it's like for you, and that's good, cuz you shouldn't know what it's like for me. But let me give you a hint. (he lowers his voice and leans into me) I'm always thirsty... but if you can, don't give me another beer, cuz I'll only get more drunk. If you can, just give me five bucks and I'll be ok."
I nod. 'Can I getcha something to eat, man, where do you get your food from these days?'
He pauses, grimaces. "Aww, don't ask me those sorts of questions, young man, ehhh...." his voice trails off.
Feeling slightly foolish, I hand him a crumpled five dollar bill from my pocket, out of sight of his friends who were milling about. After all, dignity and respect are such no matter how small.
"You're a good man sir. Thank you."
'Good luck, Frasier, I'll see you around.'

I stand up and walk off. Seems there's a lot more than meets the eye to Frasier. He's given me a lot to think about.

"Hey, sir, you'll always have my picture any time!!"