I was sitting in Izy Coffee this morning, talking to my friend Filip and sipping my cappuccino.

A man off in a corner looked unsteady.  A few minutes later, I glanced at him again.  He was lying on the floor.

It was easy to assume he was drunk, since yesterday was the beginning of Gentse Feesten … a ten-day celebration of music and sometimes all-night drinking.

Two police officers were walking by outside.  I got up and chased them down.  They came into Izy and roused the fellow.  So began a long conversation in Dutch.  Soon five other officers were standing nearby on the street.

Turns out that the fellow was drunk.  He bought an espresso to help him sober up.  He had been talking to Filip before I came in and came back to renew the contact.  I’ll call him “Matthias”.

Here’s what he said, approximately:

Why did someone call the cops on me?  I was just wasted

Bruce: “I’m the one who had the police talk to you.  I didn’t know if you were drunk or if you were having a big physical issue, like a heart attack.”

He looked at me wearily.

Matthias: “I just had too much to drink.”

Bruce: “Okay, but I didn’t know that.  What if you had died on the floor and I’d just sat there?”

Matthias: (grunting)

***

Filip headed home, and I invited Matthias to sit with me.  He offered to buy me a coffee or a beer and I said “No, thank you.  I don’t want anything.”  He tried again and I responded the same way.

We talked.  Turns out he is separated from his wife and dearly misses his six-year-old daughter when she’s with her mom.  Here in front of me was such loneliness, and such love for the little one.  Tears stayed in his eyes.

***

After awhile I wanted to leave

We shook hands

“Matthias”

“Bruce”