I rounded the corner and the old man was there, walking toward me. He was well dressed, wearing tan slacks and a blue blazer -- clearly on the way to some event in Old Town. He was probably 75 or even 80 years old, and he kind of looked like Dick Van Dyke. Only shorter. And he didn't smile.
I asked if I could pray for him. "What?" he said. " I asked again. Our faces were maybe six inches apart. He shook his head. "I don't need it. No. I don't." Then he looked at me -- "What do you want?" I told him I wanted to pray for him, just out of kindness. "No," he said again, looking back at me and continuing on his way, kind of fumbling through the words. "I don't need it. No I don't." And that was it. He walked away. And so did I.
I prayed later that someone would be there if ever he did need a prayer.
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