Yesterday I went jogging, and jogged all the way to a nearby grocery store that has a branch of my bank.

I arrived at my grocery store and began to hunt for my chosen poison, Diet Mountain Dew, lots of xanthines (caffeine) and no sugar! 

I come by the little coffee shop area of the grocery store, and I see what I think is a prayer meeting.

How do I know it was a prayer meeting?

I don't.

But I sure did go to a lot of morning prayer meetings when I was a christian, I know they are a fad, I know how they work, and I think this was one.

There is a homeless guy sitting next to them at a separate table and he has food all over his beard, he has surrounded himself with crumpled pieces of newspaper surrounding his chair, and he is weeping.

For some reason the orderly instinct kicks in.

If you haven't been following this blog then I should tell you that I was once an orderly at an institution for the mentally retarded and mentally ill. I have sense developed a good sense of when someone is mentally retarded or mentally ill.

So this poor bastard, who had built a newspaper fortress around himself, was definitely mentally ill.

I walk up to him, he extends his hand, which is covered in chewed food and possibly vomit.

I take his hand, though you better believe I hesitated.

 But I held his dirty hand, he had open sores on his arm, and he was still weeping.

He asked me to pray for him.

I told him that I could not, because I do not believe in God.

I told him to cheer up, I told him everything was okay, like one would do with a child.

I don't know if this man had become this way because he had been drinking on the street for years and damaged his poor brain.

I don't know if he was schizophrenic.

I don't know if he was mildly retarded, all are possible based on my experience, training, and the evidence of his behavior.

He had to be talked to like a child, and he calmed down. I cleaned up his mess, and gave him some money.

Then I went and washed my hands several times over.