He is somehow rather distinguished looking despite his weathered face, or maybe because of it, and certainly despite his clothing, clean but beat up. He comes around from time to time looking for something to eat. Our hostess always brings him something, or maybe gives him a cup of coffee. She has hired him to work on her small finca (farm). He finds work from other farmers too. Where he lives, I have no idea, nor how he gets food most days.
Until the government started monthly pensions just a few months ago, his income was unsteady at best and always low, earning at best the minimum wage of $9 a day. Now, at $100 per month, he will, as he puts it, never be poor again!