What's there to complain about?

Consider this. A man by the name Kenny Simmons walking in your sight one late afternoon as you drive home after work, a man whom you would later recall knowing from a different part of life. One that would take you back to your earlier years as a naive young man; going on Dr.'s visits to the Masonic Home with your respected uncle, the physician. Yes, I remember Kenny now, but what he did at the Masonic Home I do not recall...think David..think. Damn, who cares, hopefully he recognizes me. It is the second time I have seen Kenny on my drive into town in one day. Does he need a ride? He sure looks like he's struggling getting accross that crosswalk? Will he recognize me? If I pull over, how will I approach him? What name do I call him? Will he think I'm a psycho? Will he understand I'm only trying to do a worthy cause? Doubts flutter my brain and suddenly I find myself pulling over. Kenny leaves my sight for a split second as I look in my rearview mirror and find he has already made it around Jeff Street Pub. Without further hesitation I shut my door to my car as oncoming traffic speed by my legs only inches away. I run around the pub and calmly cry out "Sir? Excuse me...my name is David Orton...not sure if you recognize me? I was wondering if you might be needing a ride tonight? I know it's a great night to be walking and didn't know if you prefered to walk, but I just thought I might ask.....the mystery man of my past without hesitation responded "yes, I think I remember you.." I interrupted by finishing his sentence confirming that I knew him from the Masonic Home, upon which I asked, "What was it [you] actually did there?" The question led into a brief conversation with a man whom I was finding I had so much in common. He told me of his recent stroke and proudly declared he had worked at the Masonic Home for over 19 years and only missed 2 weeks in his entire career. He told me of his humble apartment for which he was most greatful. He told me of his postcard collection and his need to sort out the postcards once he got home. Postcards which only minutes before our conversation were purchased at the Auction a block away. He told me about his interest in traveling and that his favorite travel spot was Florida. It was then that I was beginning to question the reality of why I stopped. His interests weren't what I identified with the man. It wasn't the postcards, the Florida vacation spot, although I do enjoy Florida. It was the fact that I wanted to feel good about myself. He asked of my status and my work. I kindly replied with a sincere and truthful response that I was a single man trying to find a friend in this world. What I failed to mention was that I was using him as my feel good potion to fill the void of emptyness I was feeling at the moment he crossed my path. It was only then that I reached out my hand and politely asked what his name was....the rest is a story not to be told, but created.......