Back in the summer I had an idea. “Always look ahead”, my dad said and that advice has served me oh-so-well. I dropped in on a few sermons at various churches so I could get the lay of the land as it were. The first was St. Vincent’s, a newer place on the outskirts of town. As I suspected, the parish-goers were well-to-do and they weren’t really interested in getting their hands dirty. If there were any programs it was at arms length-you know, donate to ‘the cause’ so that you could feel better about yourself and could tell folks that you were making a difference in the community.

St. Thomas Aquinas was a bit better. They ran a kitchen on Saturdays-breakfast and lunch for those in need, the usual. They had a large group of volunteers and it was tightly run by a severe-looking, hawk-nosed old man. He had to be ex-military, it was right there in his bearing-you (meaning me) wouldn’t be able to get anything past him. I moved on.

The Holy Trinity Church was right downtown and looked more than a little shabby. In retrospect I should have started right here. You see, I was thinking ahead to November and December, when the wind turns from crisp to downright oppressive, when the cold gets into your bones and it takes forever to get it out-when the less fortunate need a place to sleep because the emergency shelters are full and some other entity steps up to fill the void.

That was Holy Trinity. The staff and volunteers were old and didn’t want to be there anymore but no one was replacing them so here they were. When I mentioned I’d be interested in monitoring these poor souls they practically wept at my feet. And so it was.

This place was badly underfunded. The basement didn’t have proper lighting, the washrooms featured separate spigots for hot and cold water, it was cold. It was almost as cold as outside when the first spell hit but at least there were mats to sleep on and ratty blankets to wrap oneself in. The smell of stale urine hung in the air. I’ll never get accustomed to it.

“Stew” and I hit it off after I offered to guard his satchel while he went to the free needle clinic. I’ve found that small gestures like that mean everything to a guy on the streets. To be someone that can be trusted. Well, for a while…

Stew told me about this one dumpster he liked going to.

-You know that pizza place that just opened three blocks from here?

-Can’t say I do. I’m not really from around here.

-Anyway, all the crap at the end of the night goes in there. And sometimes it’s not crap at all. Only thing is, when the old man has the night shift you can forget about it-he locks that thing up tighter than a drum. But when the woman closes up, she leaves it unlocked. I think she seen me lurking around. I didn’t say anything to her but one look at me and she knows what I’m all about.

-You’d better keep that a secret or somebody else might find out.

-No matter if I say anything or not, it won’t last much longer. There’s too many of us with eyes out looking for stuff. Just a matter of time…

I had something to think about on my drive home the next morning. It looked like time was really tight.

The following Friday was just like any other-ragged folks of all ages shuffled in, sat down, drank the coffee, stank to high heaven. Stew let me know his private paradise was still his alone and he was headed there at 2 am after closing. At 10 pm I feigned a sore stomach and told the other volunteer I was headed home. It was easy to find the place and I parked out of sight across the street.

I started awake at 2:30 and swore out loud at the missed opportunity, thinking that Stew had already been there and gone. After regaining my composure, I decided to wait.

A figure approached the dumpster and I slowly got out of my vehicle as the darkened silhouette pried the flap open. I waited nearby. I heard the rummaging, saw him climb out and walk towards the tree to eat his blackened (I assumed) treasure. He sat down with his back to me. Perfect.

The tools of the trade tonight were a small but weighty hatchet and a garrotte I’d fashioned out of old clothesline and two straps of leather. The freshly fallen snow hid my footsteps but not my excitement. I couldn’t help myself-as I pulled my arm back to level a incapacitating blow I said, “Hey Stew”.

The face that quickly turned towards my voice wasn’t that of Stew. This was an old guy with a yellowish beard that had a wild look in his eyes as he very nearly comprehended what was going to happen to him. I meant to hit Stew on the bridge of his nose but I was as surprised as my unintended victim and missed and buried the butt end of the hatchet into this guy’s mouth. What was left of his teeth mixed with chewed pizza as he fell forward. As he lay facedown on the snow I caved in a small part of his skull with another strike. The strangling tool came out and it was over in three minutes or so.

Breathing heavily, I took a long, looping path back to my car. The surprise of that nameless man’s making gave me an exhilaration I’d never felt before. I don’t know how I could possibly replicate that in the future.

As I got behind the wheel and made my way onto the main thoroughfare, I thought for quite some time about the role of serendipity in all our lives…

TO THE GAME!

Pats/Ravens:

Run LAMAR! Run. Actually, Steve Belichick (Sonny Boy is calling the defensive plays now) will probably gameplan to take away the run and force Jackson to beat the D through the air. And if I recall correctly, all three cb’s are ranked in PFF’s top ten in terms of performance. I’m just glad that New England isn’t facing a slap happy patsy for once.

Do your thing.