“A stranger is just a friend I haven’t met yet.”

— old saying

I walked home alone on a Monday night.

No one else was walking. Tv’s and computers flickered in the windows. An occasional car drove by. The moon shone down through the clouds. I walked on, passing an endless parade of houses. Homes of strangers.

As I walked, I thought about the guy on the on-ramp I saw earlier. He was older. His sign said he was a vet. He just stood there, alone, watching an endless parade of strangers drive by.

Once, many years ago, a stranger in that endless parade paid our tab at a restaurant. I never forgot it.

Tonight, I gave supper to that guy on the ramp. To him, I was the stranger.

We go through our lives meeting very few of the people who pass by; knowing even fewer.  It’s kind when one of those strangers holds up a helping hand to you.

It’s kinder still when you hold up your hand to them.

I gave a McDonald’s gift card to a guy on an on-ramp.