But in hindsight, I guess that was the answer he expected.
"I've been walking from church to church, trying to get $20 together to buy gas for my car," the man went on. He'd approached me and my wife as we walked my daughter's dog.
Trying to think of someplace closer, I asked, "Have you tried Peace Neighborhood Center?"
"Yes, but they only help with groceries. They don't have gas money. My car's out of gas at Briarwood. I need to be in Benton Harbor for a funeral by 4." It was already 2 p.m.
"What's your name?" my wife asked.
"Do you have a job?" she asked.
"I worked at the hog plant for forty years," he replied.
"In Benton Harbor?" she asked.
She knows Benton Harbor.
"No ma'am. In West Virginia."
I looked him over. From his billed cap to his work boots, he looked like a working man. No alcohol smell, no signs of intoxication.