Juke Box Hero was in fine form that afternoon. He wore a long, green coat on his lanky body and a feather boa around his neck. It wasn't cold in the streets of Quepos along the Pacific beach. But, it wasn’t hot either. It was the rainy season where water falls so hard from the sky you wonder if you fell off a boat and you are flailing in the surf.
It wasn’t raining.
In fact, the sun was struggling to break through the low clouds.
But Juke Box was dressed for chill. He was wearing those half gloves with the fingers cut off when he presented me with the fish.
We slowed the van to a stop and rolled down the window to say, “Hi.”
It had been at least a week since our first introduction to the tall, homeless man and we wondered how he was doing. He noticed us immediately.
"Would you like a fish?" he asked holding a stiff, icy, thin, black fish in his tipless-gloved fingers.
I smiled, a little taken back, but appreciative of his generosity.
“No, thank you,” I answered.
He looked a little disappointed, so I quickly followed it up with, “You can take it home and cook it for dinner.”
He paused, considering the logic of the suggestion, nodded his head, smiled appreciatively, turned and walked away.
Sometimes the memories that stick with you the longest were of the shortest events.
This was that.