Nobody knew where he came from. We were all sitting in the restaurant enjoying a family meal when he came in, took his place at the counter, and said “Chef, dinner’s on me. I’m buying.” But I could tell he wasn’t buying. His fingers were as brown as his old tattered coat; his face needed thatching. Sunken black eyes, crooked teeth, and matted hair: he was not the buying type. As a child, I hoped he was telling the truth — that we’d all get a free dinner. But, even as a child, I noticed he looked like he had dropped something important, but didn’t quite realize it yet. All at once, he was noticably lost and pretending to be found. We had a lost and found at school; one time I found a pair of shoes I left at school the month before. But, even as a child, I sensed nobody could box what this guy lost, and nobody would wait around long enough for him to find it.