Blasphemous toying with what is holy

I'd forgotten how good it feels to do what's good, even if those for whom you're doing good don't express their gratitude, not only don't express their gratitude but express varying degrees of displeasure in the good you think you're doing.

The sun shining, a good man, wheeling Aunt Lois, 95, up West Portal Avenue to Starbucks for a coffee, a little outing away from her rest home.

I walk past a guy selling alternative newspapers on the street. He insists on giving me the paper for free. "God bless you brother," he says.

Why do I think he's happier than I am, and I know he is, knowing he's homeless, when I have more than most men have to be grateful for?