There's something strange about this old man..

Chapter II

This time I did look up. He gazed into my eyes with his sad ones, a crease formed between two furrowed brows. My stomach gave a lurch. I had a fleeting thought that this guy might be a homeless man - a druggie - begging for money, but there was something about him that seemed too intelligent.

And he said my name! How does he know my name?

"Yes," I said finally. Then, "Have we met before?"

The old man looked at his shoes and gave a small chuckle. "I suppose we have. Only once."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

"If you've got a moment, Joseph, I'd like to share my story with you. I won't take long, though it's been on my heart to do this for quite some time."

Great, I thought, now sure that this man was some sort of street preacher. I was no stranger to religion, but I had not the time nor the interest to listen to his life story.

I looked around, embarrassed by this strange interaction, but there was only a handful of students milling about and none of them seemed interested in looking our way.

"Please," prompted the old man. Still, there was something about the way he was staring at me that compelled me to pay attention, and I told myself that once the bus came I'd excuse myself and get away from him. So I gave him my attention.

"That book you're reading," said the man, "I've read it before, long ago. Don't worry, I won't tell you how it ends. But you've read the beginning, yes?"

I nodded.

"Chapter one ends with David losing everything - his girl, his friends, his job. I guess that was me at one point."

"Sir, if you need money, I-"

"No, no, no," said the old man, waving his hands. "I don't want your money. I want you to listen to me, Joseph. That much is important."

I wished he would stop saying my name. It was unsettling because the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I had never seen this man in my life.

"The point is, I lost everything. A long time ago. I made some poor decisions - one poor decision, really, and I want more than anything to make it right. But that's in the past, you understand? And there's no use mourning over spilled milk." The man looked out over the street, squinting. "I used to be a lot like you, Joseph. I just don't want you to make the same mistake."

"What mistake?" I asked.