a cake. A brioche, to be precise.
Who? Constant, a chap who lives on the street in Bordeaux. He's an old-fashioned homeless guy, he looks and dresses like a tramp and he wanders the streets of Bordeaux.
We've met him in Cenon, where he accepts a cup of coffee, but drinks it outside the building. He has come in, but not often.
And the first time we met at Dan he came past and was very upset by our presence. "It's a restaurant, not a church", he yelled. But he soon got used to us.
The other week he yelled again, the Sunday that Pat and I were in Nice. Was he upset by a voice he didn't recognise?
Sometimes we try to give him food, but he always refuses it. At Cenon a coffee. At Dan we don't have coffee, so we have nothing to give him. He likes to exchange some treasure: a glass, a spoon, a metal rod, anything he finds. But we're not in our own place so it ain't easy to swap with him.
Anyway, this Sunday, during a moment when I couldn't really be interrupted, the door opened and his hand came in. There's a hook near the door where he hangs his treasure for exchange, but this time he left a bag and went.
We looked inside. It was a brioche! Nice, too, apparently!