Fix him a sandwich, get him some water, and tell him I don’t let strangers in my house.

I’ve done just that, twice in the twenty odd years I’ve owned it. Before that, my dad owned it and had different rules about who had access to resources, so I would have followed his, if it had arisen.

But! I would offer to bring my spare trimmer and hook him up on the porch, or a shave if he wanted. That used to be part of my job, and I miss the hell out of personal care. I’d also offer to let him use a mirror instead though.

I’m hard core about no strangers in the house, period, ever. Don’t care why they want in, don’t care who they are, if I haven’t said it’s okay, nobody comes in. Hell, there’s people we know that aren’t allowed in. I’ve got one cousin in particular that will get his ass beat again if he shows up. But someone we don’t know, that I haven’t vetted? Hellll no.

Shit, I’d rent a motel room for a homeless person before I’d let the cleanest, best dressed stranger in my house, and I’m on a fixed income.

But, I’m actually known to be a soft touch for food and beverage. It’s a thing. If I know you well enough to let you in, you will never go hungry at my house. If I don’t know you well enough to invite you in, I still won’t let you go hungry or thirsty, but I’ll ask you to move along with the supplies. I’d have to have my family be starving before I’d refuse basic food and water to someone.