A Day in a Life
The man sits on the sidewalk. Face down. Palm no longer outstretched.
His old and worn hand no longer has the energy to beg for money.
His tired, lined face focuses on his lap, silently pleading not to be looked at.
His tattered clothes hang limply over his body.
His mismatched shoes beginning to reveal his toes.
Silently, he raises his head. Watching the people pass him by.
All hurried. All unheeding. All familiar to this sight.
He's lost the desire to ask for help. Pride is the only thing he can call his own.
He's tired and hungry, his insides scream.
His eyes brim with tears, but he won't let them roll down his dirty face.
He has his pride. And a coffee can.
The rusty container sits at his hip, the only sign that he is willing to accept donations.
It holds no dollars, no quarters, no pennies.
It holds air and hopelessness.
Children approach, laughing and playing, as children do.
He allows himself a slight smile. Youth.
The sound of change bounces into his container.
The children pass, still laughing and carrying on.
He peers into his rusted coffee can.
A bottle cap.