He was the only man who shined shoes at George's Shoe Repair. The tiny refuge was located below ground at the 51st and Lexington subway station.
Yes. Hand. Wash. Personally. You'll like.
There were two or three ladies of an implacable foreign origin who also shined shoes in silence. Customers predicted the mystery women came from Bolivia to Tajikistan and everywhere in between.
Buddy's origin was clear as mud too. But wherever he'd come from before ending up at George's had made him an amicable fellow. Unlike the shoeshine girls, the patrons of George's never wondered where Buddy was from. Instead they wondered how anyone could be so nice.
Friendly like a Canadian, one customer said to his coworker. German maybe? Yeah, kinda I dunno. Except a different accent and everything.
The leopard coat girl had little faith in Buddy and therefore she had faith in nothing.