What this dear Soul sees, has seen from the beginning, or projected, James does not know.
This man has been an angel. Possibly James age. A Hispanic man, very handsome. Part of the road crews in this area. Three or four or five times in recent months when he has seen James up in the foothills he stops his gigantic truck that plows rocks off the road, bounds out with the biggest warmest hug, and something in his hand, a bag of something, chips, whatever. He says that he got them for me. He will not accept my refusal.
Today he bought my lunch though I had told him not to.