The backwards souls

I was wandering around the city recently, waiting for something, and I found my way to a downtown library. In the reading room upstairs, there was an old man sleeping. He looked a little like the old man with the story about the backward soles. He was slumped over in a chair where the sun would come in and warm his back and his neck. He had a book, "No Country for Old Men," open to a random page, and he smelled of urine.

To me, though, he didn't seem any more lost than the rest of us.

Read the full column @ the Clayton News Daily: The lost men