Friendship Goes Awry

I became acquainted with a man who lived in the park near a nice little convenience store by the lake. We first crossed paths at the community recovery center, where I was going because of my brain condition and the loneliness I felt at the time. He was a recovering alcoholic, and while saying that “knowing” him might be a stretch, we certainly recognized each other—something that doesn't often happen with anyone beyond my family these days.

He told me he’d gone to beauty school and gave haircuts in the public bathroom at the marina. Despite his gentle skill with scissors, he carried a rugged, East‑Coast vibe. The store clerks knew me well, since I was a regular. I often wondered what they thought about my friendship with someone who was unhoused and used the shop’s facilities for basic needs like showering.

Gene, the tough‑looking guy who always smoked a cigarette and gathered his crew at the store each morning before sunrise, kept his distance. He and his friends lingered at one end of the shop, while I sat quietly at the other, writing my morning pages. Still, I had a new friend, and we started meeting there for coffee—my treat, of course.

After a while, things got a bit complicated. He began asking for money and hinted at causing a scene if I didn’t comply. The situation grew tense, and eventually he stopped coming to the store altogether. It seemed he sensed that our arrangement had run its course.