After talking about the Louisiana rednecks, Wilton started talking about hate.

“Hate is a powerful word, very powerful,” eyes squinting at me, concentrating his gaze from the shadowed part of his face beneath the hat brim. “I have never been able to hate. When I was younger and stupid, I thought I hated. But now, I’m too old to feel anything negative, too old to hate. Someone takes something from me, I can’t feel hate. I figure they must need it more than me.

“I saw a woman at a bus station with two babies. It was pretty cold, so I gave her my jacket. Next thing I knew, she was picked up by a man in a Mercedes. Turns out her job was to steal men’s wallets. But I figure I gave the jacket to the babies, and anyway God gave me two jackets. Someone took all my clothes once. I threw my stuff in their truck when they stopped, and they took off. Once I had accumulated some money, and I wanted to keep it off me, hitchhiking and all. I kept it in a duffel bag, and one day someone took the duffel bag. But it’s all accumulation; as long as I’m unhurt, I just start accumulating again. Those people all must have needed that stuff more than me.”

He told me to pick up a Bible, and spend time with Jesus out on the lonelier roads.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because he’ll send someone to you!”

“How do you spend time with Jesus?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I thought he was thanking me for asking the right question, foolishly feeling good about myself for asking the right question of such a wise man.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank him! Thank you Jesus for my coat! Thank you Jesus for this day! Thank you Jesus for this food! Thank him!”

I gave him some money for breakfast, because he had mentioned needing breakfast money earlier. Howie would call him a holy man, and I would agree. I am honored to have put a smile on his face.

I have noticed lately in these conversations how much I have learned over the years. Although I learned from Wilton today, it was more a meeting on level ground than similar meetings I have had in the past. I have traveled enough and been on the edge of society enough to have already learned much of what he talked about from experience. We have both discovered the simplicity of life, and it is plain joy to hear that simplicity in another person’s words. He plans to experience small-town life a bit, build up some money, and move on. I hope he does all right. No matter what though, he will be all right. He knows enough to always focus on what he has.

His mom and his aunt were pregnant at the same time. His cousin became Milton Sylvester, and he became Wilton Sylvester. “I was Sly before Sly and the Stones!”