He was standing in the shadow of an alley, wearing the black apron of a waiter. In one hand was a cigarette; in the other was a cell phone. He was texting when I walked up to him. He was tall, maybe 25 years old, and he got a very puzzled look on his face when I asked him whether I could pray for him.
“What do you need?” he asked, not sure he heard me correctly. He was friendly, but confused. I asked him again, and he promptly said “no” then. “Are you sure?” I asked. “It will just take 10 seconds.” He looked me up and down then and told me again, “No thanks, man.” Then he went back to his texting.
So I left, praying for him as I walked back to my car.
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