Last summer I moved to Kirkland to live with my fiancé, giving up being a lawyer. Without a job, I spent my days aimlessly wandering around my new neighborhood.
That's how I1Steve. I'd seen him plenty of times before—untidy, with a messy gray beard, 2 a worn cardboard sign at the street corner. His 3 asked for help with food or rent—nothing fancy, and never for alcohol or drugs. Having lived in the area for ten years, Steve was well known to the locals. Even as I chatted with him, several people waved to him as they went by. I 4called him the Mayor of Kirkland. He laughed, saying he hoped the name would stick. He had much to do before his term was 5.
In September, he told me he'd been homeless because he had a legal issue for the last thirty years and, as a result, his social security 6 had been halved. The remaining amount wasn't enough to live on, so he was forced to spend his days trying to 7 the difference.
Knowing I had legal experience, he asked me if I could help him with this matter. I agreed 8. In the months that followed, I began to 9 more time and energy into his case. When we met to discuss his case, it was as if a heavy 10 was lifting off his back. I could sense his growing optimism. He started describing me as his "little ray of 11" and telling his friends what a great 12 I was doing.
Then came the day when the court finally decided to 13 most of what Steve owed, which meant he would have enough money to get his life back on 14. I could see tears in Steve's eyes when he heard the 15. But it also meant that I wouldn't see him as often anymore. When I told Steve this, he grinned with tears in his eyes," We're friends, and friends make time to see each other. Besides, the mayor's still got to do his rounds."
