Tommy was a small man, with a dent in his head. Whatever had done it, it made him a little bit paranoid. He wore surgical masks outside the house, and thought that the police had a secret room beneath the local White Castle, and that they listened to him through the wires they’d planted in his room.

Most of us in the rooming house were students, alcoholics, and wannabe bohemians, with plenty of overlap. He was on an %80 mental disability. But he also had some ability at house repair, and so he’d become the unofficial maintenance guy, fixing all the plumbing and other odd jobs.

He was the long-term resident, the guy who’d been there for a while, and would be there for a long time after the rest of us were all gone.

Of all my house mates, he was the only one who seemed sad when I moved out. He took a Christmas card (he’d gotten some for free), crossed out the ‘Merry Christmas’, and just wrote, “Goodbye. Take Care”, and put it under my door.

It was the nicest thing anyone had given me in years.