the most confusing kind

we had the worst kind of homeless people in the bistro the other day: the kind that worry you and the kind you want to take care of.

you're left position less--too concerned to ask them to leave, too creeped out to have them stay.

but stay they did.

for hours.

making out.

they ordered a couple of beers

but migrated often

a table outside

a table inside

the bathrooms

the bar stools

the front chairs

the bar stools

and then the woman fell off.

the restaurant paused.

we'd all seen her for hours.

crying, broken, mangy, matted hair, deep, dark bruises on her arms.

he'd pet her, coax her, hold her

and we couldn't tell if it made her better, or worse.