I’m not Chilly anymore. Call me Larry.

I’d spotted Chilly Willy a few times off and on after my return to the Urban Ministry Center, but this Wednesday he looked different, more relaxed. His clothes were cleaner, his hair not so tangled but still in dreadlocks. I didn’t know who was doing his barberin’ these days, but they were better than his last. The smell was gone, along with the dirt under his fingernails. His skin was clear, but the Harley Davidson tattoo was still there, squarely in the middle of his forehead. I sat next to him in the courtyard, leaned over, and said, “Hi Chilly, remember me?”

After an extra-long minute, he turned to face me and replied, “Maybe, but I’m not Chilly anymore. I’m Larry Major.”