At first glance, the soil streaked man was a bundle of newspaper scraps and fabrics, a blurred collage of dirt and weathered shades. As I pressed change into his gloved palm, the mismatched man smiled and nodded, then asked me what my greatest weakness was. Patience was the first thing that came to mind.

He let out a hearty laugh. “That was my problem too. Be patient,” he said, “Someday you will have it.”