MISTER JOE
I'm always, speaking to myself, speaking bad about cities. I like the country, but right now I like Bangkok, too. A very nice person stays at the Opera, same as me. His name is Joe, but we call him Mister Joe. Mister Joe has had two strokes at a young age; I think he is same as me, mid fifties. He calls them his "strokes of luck" because he survived, and now he gets a tiny disability that allows him to not work. He is one of the kindest men I have ever known. He has very little money but all of it, every day, goes to people here at the hotel, or to the people at the convenience store just down the street where he goes to buy beer. We sit drinking beer and telling stories, and Joe says hello to everyone in a completely earnest way. I think he is just happy to be alive, and happy to be here in Bangkok where people don't think twice about befriending a very nice man who has had two strokes. We joke a lot about the young women who work in the convenience store (walking is hard for Joe, so the convenience store is within close reach). I love Nang Ning, he loves Tip. But they all really love Joe. He buys them a pizza, or gives them a dollar. They know a nice man when they meet one.
Mister Joe has somehow slowed life down, appreciating everything. He has a friend, a long time friend, named Mee. She comes most every day. Mee has a friend, a woman, named Boo, who Mee refers to as "the Boo". One day The Boo was here and headed to the beauty salon, wanting to look like "a potato."
Joe cries a lot, and it's infectious. My father cried a lot too, in that same loving life sense.
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