When my older son was
still a little guy, my Saturday
Morning Sidekick, we were stopped
at a light next to Triangle Park
on a hot August day with
the windows  rolled down. He
was caught up in the wonder
of the fountains and I was
casually observing  some 
unwashed dudes on the  corner
just a few feet away. He broke our
comfortable silence by asking me: 
“Dad, what do winos eat?”.

In great detail I explained to him
the concept of panhandling,  the
merits of dumpster diving and how
one takes advantage of the
Salvation Army soup du jour.
I was quick to point out that their
first priority was procuring cheap
alcohol. “Oh,” he said with a thoughtful
look. “I thought they just ate gwass”.