The Beginning of Theology

I remember:

I turn a corner. From the pavement a man looks at me.

He raises his hand.

“For something to eat?” he asks.

I doubt him. Behind a hand-written sign on cardboard he holds an open paperback. I doubt.

I give him my sandwich. “Thank you,” he offers.

Whitening red stubble. Matted hair. Torn sleeves. Torn jeans. Eighties jeans. German accent. Hands. Palms. Book.

The Sorbonne in view. Green leaves. Trees. The city.