His name is John. He says he is simply down on his luck. Luck ran out more than 15 years ago. He says he had it all – wife, kids, house, family. He lost it all. He found a bottle first then moved onto things that only make life harder. He’s good with his hands and has a stocky build. He’s a fighter. He has to be…on these streets. His face and skin, made leathery by the mean Boston weather. He asked me for money. I bought him coffee. I could smell last night’s booze on him and thought better. We sat on a bench and coffee together and talked about nothing and everything.