As I came out of Elliot Bay Book Store today, a young homeless man stepped into my path and said in a soft voice, “Could you spare some change so I can get a cheeseburger?”

I reached into my jacket pocket and fished around for my wallet.

“I will sing you a song,” he said as I rummaged. “I will–”

Without bothering to count them, I put a wad of folded bills into his outstretched brown hand.

His mouth dropped open a little bit. “Oh, thank you,” he said earnestly, looking into my eyes.

The young man’s shoulders were unnaturally hunched and his head thrust forward and to one side. Though he was at least my height, he had to look up slightly at me. It made him seem wistful, like a child in a toy store.

“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling.

He thrust the bills in his own jacket and held out his hand. “Thank you,” he said again. “Let me sing you a song.”

His hand was warm and soft. “I need to go,” I said. “But I will take a rain check.”

We both grinned at the joke. I turned and headed down the street.

He called after me, “Happy Valentines Day!”

I looked over my shoulder. He was standing still, but leaning toward me like a tree in a wind.