Nickel, Dime, Quarter.

I once knew a man named Crazy Jessie. I am sure that was not his legal name but he was known in the neighborhood as the resident homeless guy and I am assuming at the time people equated homelessness with mental instability. Crazy Jessie would often ring the bell at the Flags (Forty Flags the motel I grew up in). He wouldn't say much just stare blankly and say "Got a nickel, dime, quarter" and hold out his hand. I would scrounge around for any money laying around, often coming up too short for Jessie. It was always more than a nickel and sometimes just a dime, and often short of a quarter. When I was short he would look back at his hand and at me and walk away. I would sometimes give him a dollar if I had it and was feeling generous enough to give away my candy money. I once tried giving him a sandwich and I think he cursed me out but could not get the words he was saying as he walked away grunting eating his sandwich after he snatched it from my hand. I wish he talked more and often tried to ask him questions about where he came from, if he had a family, what his full name was-assuming Jessie was his first name.  Jessie always looked bothered when I asked him these questions, he would grunt loudly and turn his back walking away speaking gibberish. I never got to know how Jessie got to be where he was in life but I am sure his journey was a tough one. In retrospect I had no right asking Jessie about something as personal as his life's journey. It was enough he was taking a handout from some kid but having to answer to them was where he drew the line. I sometimes pass the Flags and wonder what ever happened to Jessie. I don't see him anymore walking the streets begging for change. I'd like to think he got his act together and decided to seek help and get off the streets. I sometimes hear his voice in my head replaying his one phrase I was only ever able to make out, "Got a nickel, dime, quarter".