All she ever did was hold him. Sometimes they would talk - he'd tell her about his past. He'd done so much living.

She'd been wary of him the first time he came wandering up her street. A couple of the girls had looked him up and down and turned away with disdain. It was true; he wasn't a hot one - meaning he looked like he didn't have two pennies to rub together.

There was something in his eyes, though, when he approached her with a small smile.

"Got some time for an old man, miss?"

It had been a slow couple of days, that was the only reason she'd even replied back.

"Got some money for that time, Mister?"

"I do."

She'd been shocked the first time. He didn't even want her to get undressed. They just lay together for an hour, him spooning her from behind in that seedy hotel room. He'd only asked that she leave the lights off, but at the end of the hour when she'd faced him she could have sworn she could see the evidence of tear tracks running down his face. He'd promptly paid up and she wondered if she would ever run into him again. It was the easiest $50 she'd made in a while.

The next time he'd brought a tiny bouquet of purple and white flowers.

"For you, m'lady," he'd said with a smile. Again, they'd retreated to the hotel room and laid together in silence. For some reason she wasn't afraid of him, and she actually allowed herself to relax. She was taken off guard when he'd asked her how such a pretty young thing ended up on the streets and she answered honestly, shocking even herself.

After that she'd see him every few weeks, smiling as she saw his gray haired head coming her way. He'd hold her in the dark and they would talk. Mostly she would answer his questions, but every once in a while he would regale her with a tale from his past - concerts, road trips, his friends who had since passed on. She sometimes wondered about the veracity of his stories, but when he brought her a worn scrapbook of newspaper clippings she no longer doubted him. Each week he would bring a little something for her, flowers, candy, once around Christmas a tiny necklace. Each week he would pay up and she'd wonder when he would wander into her life again.

Somehow over the course of these meetings he'd inadvertently wormed his way behind the wall around her heart. It was beyond inappropriate, she knew, so she never said anything, just kept looking for that silver haired old man to approach with his shy smile and twinkling eyes, eager for another hour of quiet humanity.