On Sunday mornings I visit Moe. He lives in the train station, I think, or maybe under the bridge next to the Dunkin’ Donuts, but I’m not sure, it’s probably rude to ask a homeless man where he lives. But chances are i’ll bump into him somewhere downtown, I know his usual hangouts. What our conversations lack in breadth, they make up for it in depth. Moe and I don’t cover a wide variety of topics when we talk, I can tell he doesn’t want to pry, and I just don’t know if “so do you have a busy week ahead of you” is a socially acceptable conversation starter in this particular situation. Regardless, we chat. It is crucial to stand approx. 4-6 feet away from Moe when he speaks, he tends to spit. Today he officially called me “his new friend”, I didn’t have the heart to correct him by saying that we actually became friends last January, so I went along with it. I usually pick up a bottle of Tropicana (with added calcium) for him, but today he wanted a peach Snapple instead. After 5 minutes of rearranging the shelf filled with bottles of Snapple in every flavor, except for peach, I made the executive decision that Moe wouldn’t mind a classic lemon Snapple, because he’s already homeless, I can’t insult the man by giving him a diet peach. As predicted, Moe appreciated my use of discretion and risk-taking in choosing the lemon flavor in the absence of peach. After I gave him the drink, we exchanged pleasantries, he blessed me, and I was on my way back home. Sometimes weeks go by and I don’t bump into Moe at all. This worries me because, unlike my other friends, I don’t have him on Snap, follow him on Insta or Twitter, nor are we friends on Facebook. But I guess that’s what makes our friendship special, it’s old school, just like him.