No, not the “Saint.” Come to think of it, maybe he is a saint. My friend Francis was living in doorways or behind dumpsters when we first met in San Francisco’s Tenderloin; a gentle and sober soul with a demeanor belied by his wild appearance. His riotous silver hair was as unwashed and unkempt as …
Author | Vagabond Preacher | Lover of the Poor | Grandpa
barney wiget 