This man finds his way to our couches in the church foyer every afternoon and takes his little post-lunch naps. He must be the most tired man alive. I don’t know who he is, I don’t know where he comes from. About a year ago Shelley and I decided to make contact with TSM (The Sleeping Man) and wrote a vague, nameless note that simply stated we see what he’s doing and wonder who he is. We quietly snuck down to the foyer, tip toed up to the couch and stuck it (it was on a sticky note) on the ottoman next to his shoeless sock. We scrambled up to the 2nd floor to watch his response. He slowly woke up, rubbed his eyes and noticed a yellow paper near his foot. He read it, quickly put on his shoes and walked out the door. We watched him go up the hill-to the lighrail we presume. Day after day we would go and check for him, but he was not there. We thought we scared him away and he is never coming back….that is until Monday.
Shelley is no longer here to be my accomplice, but I am compelled to write another note. Should I? Or should I leave the poor, sleepy man alone in peace? Have an opinion? Take the poll.