Loner (14, updated Jan23)

The old Indian-Malay, short, thin, moustachioed. Tousle-haired. Big-time loner street guy. Unlike others, if this man was sleeping rough it was somewhere out behind the Haig blocks, well outta sight. On his bicycle he came along the path from that direction, passing the open window on Carpmael without ever looking. In three years he had never been seen in the company of a single soul. Once he began to be acknowledged occasionally a raised hand; once or twice hoarse greeting. Once or twice approaching for coin, he led with the upright forefinger to indicate his ask. (Pushy beggars immediately requested two.) 
         This morning coming upon him at the head of the supermarket queue, a sudden reflexive halt.
         No! Couldn’t do that. 
         Alone in that line and being served. Back turned.
         The girl knew him, addressing him as Uncle in a forced tone. Every day he bought the same, a small can of Anchor, two dollars and ten cents at NTUC. Cheaper than the liquor outlets. 
         The note and coin sat on the counter to save the girl accidentally brushing his palm; prevent her wincing. 
         The offer of payment was accepted.
         The path to the market, the river, the two or three little gardens with their benches. In the hottest part of the day circling bare-headed, shirt hanging from trousers and pushing the wheels only enough to keep himself upright. The man was regularly overtaken by athletic walkers.