I was in Hollywood, procrastinating my way through massive writer’s block at my favorite music store. As I left, a homeless man asked me for change. I had some old clothes that needed to go to Goodwill in my car, so I offered him a pair of shoes. He said they weren’t his size, but his friend down the street might fit.

I saw him laying in the shade on a thin blanket, shirtless. I approached, my heart swelling at the spirit of giving, my flimsy trash bag barely able to contain all of my used goods. I didn’t expect much...a smile of thanks, maybe a stoic tear of joy. I lifted my chin slightly, the better to catch the good karma that would soon be raining down on me. Our eyes met...

"I heard you might need some shoes."

And he laughed. And not happy laughter. No, this was at my expense.

“I hope you’re not dumping all of that on me!” he said. “How many shoes do you think I need?”

I didn’t let it shake me. “Er... I have some pants in here too.”

“Let’s have a look...”

He laid out all of the shoes side by side, tried them on, walked up and down the sidewalk like he was at the mall. After finding the pair he liked, he introduced himself as Michael.

“Nice day today, isn’t it? It’s our day,” he said.

Memorial Day. He had served in Vietnam, put his life on the line, and now he was among the many MIA on the streets of L.A. And yet, he was smiling, well-spoken, articulate. He didn’t seem like he should be stuck on the streets, and I told him so.

“I try. Best I can do is try, you know. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. What do you do?”

I told him I was a writer.

“What’s your day job?” he asked.

Even the homeless know how things work out here. I had to laugh.

“What are you working on now?”

I was about to pitch my screenplay to a homeless man. And why not? I launched into the tale, taking him from beginning to end, watching his reactions, truly hoping that he’d love it.

“I’d pay money to see that,” he said, before adding with his best devil-may-care grin: “Somebody have to give it to me first, though!”

I promised to buy him a ticket when the script was produced.

“When’s it gonna be finished?”

“Hopefully before I die.”.

“Then you ought to finish it today. Never know!”

“You never do,” I agreed.

“Tell you what, next time you get stuck, you write something about me. Be nice to know somebody took the effort to remember.”

So I did. And here comes the karma now, as I save this file and start writing again...because I really should finish my script soon.

Never know...