“What’s your dog’s name?” I asked.

“Oh, that there is Grace. Her name is Grace!”

Wow, I thought to myself. Billy and Grace.

I could smell the street and the alcohol on Billy, and I felt a wave of sadness as I realized that Billy and Grace were indeed homeless. And then, out of nowhere, Billy said, “Mister, I’m no panhandler, but Grace she hasn’t had nothin’ to eat for a few days and I’m wonderin’ if you could spare some change so I can get her somethin’ to eat.”

I can usually tell when one of the many people on the streets in New Orleans are conning me, but I believed this kid. He looked like he was maybe twenty, and Grace, well, she looked hungry and way too thin. So as I reached for my billfold I asked him, “So, Billy, how long have you been on the street?”

“About a year,” he said. And then, “I got kicked out of the Army on a psych discharge. They said I was crazy and they didn’t want me to serve no more. Me and Grace, we’re doin’ okay now though.”