“Can I have a dollar?”

He asks this so politely. His eyes pleading.
The man standing before has been making rounds among the tables, getting shot down time and time again.

I feel for him, to have to beg to live. Dealing with hate and stigma from everyone around you. Like the man on the way over, sitting in the subway wishing everyone a good morning and asking them to help get him food.

Now though, looking into this man’s eyes, I shake my head. Quietly I say “I don’t have”, my coffee...