Homeboy has nappy hair and raggedy clothes. He's standing on top of a bench in Boston Common looking at the pollution purple sky. He's got no money, no home, and no friends.
Why is he so hard up? Well, see, my brother always tells that deep, mind-blowing, day-changing, life-altering truth. He can't help it. Truth pours from his mouth like bullshit from a politician. People just can't talk to this cat. After a few words, they stumble off struggling to retain ignorance or to internalize wisdom.
How does my man eat? Well when he needs a bite, he approaches the nearest purveyor of sustenance and says, "We all gotta eat." Struck by the tone and sincerity of the words, our vendor can't help but say, "true, true." Then our honest to a fault friend says, "I have no money, for it doesn't exist." "Are you begging," asks the nourishment salesman? "Naw, just speaking truth. I'm hungry." Confused, but hypnotized, a meal changes hands. "Thank you for such kindness, in turn so shall ye receive kindness," offers our hero, ambling away.
Where does such a man sleep? In the Commons of course, and a shelter when it gets cold. Now what use is truth as a superpower, if you broke, homeless and hungry? Well, this man know what truly is important, what he truly has, who he truly is, and how to appreciate and be grateful for the gift of each breath.
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