I walked past Jim sleeping outside the convenience store on my way to the bank. He was OK, probably tired from a late night. The doorway of the building he was laying across was vacant, and he was ‘out of the way’ at least, from pedestrians and cars. No danger. No alarm.
This is Jim’s ‘area’, I guess you could say. He would pan outside the supermarket, play his guitar for donations (or not), and generally was easy to get along with. He knew how to do his ‘work’ and got by – as best a person could get by, homeless style.
I have wakened Jim on occasion to see if he was OK, or needed something, or if I had something for him. Today everything looked good, so I let him sleep.
He comes to