Nickels For Your Pity
I've had a problem lately because the ashtray in my car is overfilled with change. I usually dump the extra change in there after buying a water or lunch.
You know. We all do that.
So, I've been buying the morning paper with nickels in an effort to get enough room so I can drop more change in there and be comfortable.
It has to do with some of my compulsions. No pennies either. I can't look at the copper mixing with the silver.
So, I bought the paper with a handful of nickels and then pulled over to fill my gas tank. I swiped the credit card and began filling the tank, watching the numbers flip up towards fifty.
So expensive.
As I was doing this a man, who I instantly labeled as homeless, began rifling through the garbage a lane over from me. He plucked out a couple of plastic pop bottles.
He nodded at me.
I couldn't help but gauge the fact that he was filthy.
He was also interested in watching the numbers flip on my gas order, and I know that he wanted to look in the garbage cans right beside me.
He also appeared working up the nerve to ask me a question or two.
My mind did a quick scan.
He was about the same age as me.
He appeared to be suffering from health problems, mental difficulties and perhaps a substance abuse problem or two.
I stepped aside and he got to the can next to me. He shifted some fast-food wrappers out of the way and dug his arm down a bit.
He came up empty.
He nodded at me again.
The gas pump clicked off.
$48.74 was the damage.
The man glanced at the numbers and back at me.
He finally worked up the nerve.
"If you have any change," he said, and his shaky voice faltered.
I reached into my car and grabbed a handful of my loose change.
It was at least $5 worth.
He held out two gloved hands and cupped them in front of him. I dropped the "extra" coins in his hands and he lifted his eyes to meet my gaze.
His eyes were dark, nearly black. They seemed to smile at me as he quickly figured his good fortune.
"Bless you," he said.
"Have a good day," I answered.
He scurried away. There was a definite limp to his step. He seemed to be eager to head off somewhere.
Poor man, I thought.
I wondered where he'd get his next drink from. I considered where he might sleep tonight.
I didn't even worry about how much the gasoline had cost me.
I now had a little room in my over-filled ashtray.
I'd sleep better tonight.
You know. We all do that.
So, I've been buying the morning paper with nickels in an effort to get enough room so I can drop more change in there and be comfortable.
It has to do with some of my compulsions. No pennies either. I can't look at the copper mixing with the silver.
So, I bought the paper with a handful of nickels and then pulled over to fill my gas tank. I swiped the credit card and began filling the tank, watching the numbers flip up towards fifty.
So expensive.
As I was doing this a man, who I instantly labeled as homeless, began rifling through the garbage a lane over from me. He plucked out a couple of plastic pop bottles.
He nodded at me.
I couldn't help but gauge the fact that he was filthy.
He was also interested in watching the numbers flip on my gas order, and I know that he wanted to look in the garbage cans right beside me.
He also appeared working up the nerve to ask me a question or two.
My mind did a quick scan.
He was about the same age as me.
He appeared to be suffering from health problems, mental difficulties and perhaps a substance abuse problem or two.
I stepped aside and he got to the can next to me. He shifted some fast-food wrappers out of the way and dug his arm down a bit.
He came up empty.
He nodded at me again.
The gas pump clicked off.
$48.74 was the damage.
The man glanced at the numbers and back at me.
He finally worked up the nerve.
"If you have any change," he said, and his shaky voice faltered.
I reached into my car and grabbed a handful of my loose change.
It was at least $5 worth.
He held out two gloved hands and cupped them in front of him. I dropped the "extra" coins in his hands and he lifted his eyes to meet my gaze.
His eyes were dark, nearly black. They seemed to smile at me as he quickly figured his good fortune.
"Bless you," he said.
"Have a good day," I answered.
He scurried away. There was a definite limp to his step. He seemed to be eager to head off somewhere.
Poor man, I thought.
I wondered where he'd get his next drink from. I considered where he might sleep tonight.
I didn't even worry about how much the gasoline had cost me.
I now had a little room in my over-filled ashtray.
I'd sleep better tonight.
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