Simple Gifts

He wasn't demon, or angel, or anything else that walked the streets in faint mimicry of man. But he learned the knack of listening to what people didn't say; how they moved; how they breathed (or didn't). So when the man came looking to rent, wrapped in a cocoon of 'not good enough,' he quietly handed him the key.

And when the next one came staggering through the rain, dragging the same miasma of despair, he looked at the soggy bit of paper and melting address and pointed the man upstairs.

The only cure for 'not good enough' was finding someone willing to convince you that you were wrong.