He stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting or a Tom Waits song, and onto my front porch. He had a hardened face, but was soft spoken. He looked off into the distance as he told me his family history, which gave me a chance to notice he was neatly dressed. He asked for 12 bucks to rake the leaves, which I gladly gave him. Every 3 minutes he would pause and elocute another vignette, softly, such that I could barely hear him as I bagged the leaves. When he was done he walked off down the street, back to his small apartment, or the liquor store, or to hop that freight train back to another generation…bye Rex.