| Jill taps her fingers on the steering wheel to the music on the radio. She is thankful that she is able to finally play her own music in the car, after decades of playing cassettes and then CDs of boy bands for her daughter and hard rock for her son. On the sidewalk, a homeless man in a tattered sweater and knee-less pants sits on a sewer grate, a young girl in front of him, staring into his eyes. Jill takes this scene in quickly - it is nothing more than a mere glance. She looks at the light - still red - and again at the homeless man and girl. It�s rare that a girl of twelve or thirteen could have the understanding and compassion to stop and speak to someone in need of a friend. It�s rare in general for anyone to do it, let alone someone so young. The cars that had the green light slow to a stop as their light turns yellow and then red. Jill gives one last glance toward the homeless man, and notices that he is now standing beside the confused girl. He stumbles as Jill starts to drive into the intersection. Suddenly, Jill sees a blur of movement appear to the right of her car, and feels a jolt as she hits something large. This is followed closely by the sound of a crack, and a scream. Anne follows the crowd on the sidewalk like a minnow in a large school of fish. In front of her, the moving bodies swerve to the right slightly, but too suddenly for the awkward girl. Instead of turning with the rest of them, she almost falls over a man sitting on the ground. She mumbles a quiet �sorry� and corrects her footing in order to flee the embarrassing scene. The man, upon hearing the apology, looks up at the girl. His eyes are a vibrant blue - the life in them don�t match his unkempt exterior. He responds, but not loud enough for Anne to hear over the din of her iPod and the crowd, so she removes her earphones and asks him to repeat himself. �Change?� he repeats, his mouth barely moving. There are several coins in the creases of his cupped palms. Anne looks at his raw and chapped hands, aged beyond their years from the cold. �Sorry,� she responds. �I haven�t got any to spare.� � �s ok,� he replies, and looks away. �Change?� he asks the next person who walks by, but isn�t even rewarded with a glance. �Change?� Anne, looking down at him, can see that the man is troubled and obviously chilled to the core despite the morning�s warming rays. The man, dejected, casts his eyes down, and shakes the change in his hand before putting it into a discarded coffee cup. There could only be a dollar or two in the cup, and the few dollars in her own pocket starts to make Anne feel more and more guilty. A few more people pass behind Anne and Joe looks up but not with enough confidence to get the slightest of looks in his direction. �Change?� he mutters, almost to himself. The girl, struck by his hopelessness, fishes in her shallow jean pocket, when she hears a door open behind her. �Hey, ya bum!� a man yells over the noise on the sidewalk. �Get your stinkin� corpse offa my sidewalk! The customers don�t wantchya smell hangin� onto them when they come inside here.� The man and a few pedestrians laugh. Joe uncrosses his legs, picks up his coffee cup full of change, and attempts to stand up on his shaky legs. �What? Cantchya get up?� the shopkeeper yells at him, laughing again. �Get going, you, before I call the police to haul your ass out to the loony bin!� Standing up, Joe teeters unsteadily on his feet and stumbles backwards. Anne watches, as if in slow-motion, as the man slips off the sidewalks� curb and staggers backwards onto the street. Just then, the cars that were at the red light accelerate. The man hits the hood, and the crack of his skull echoes in Anne�s head. �Change?� Joe asks quietly, almost inaudibly. No one notices him. No one ever notices him. His hands are freezing and he fights them to stop shaking. �Change?� Out of the crowd, a young girl emerges and almost runs into him. Joe doesn�t move. He dismisses the move as an accident, and not a malicious gesture, which he also witnesses multiple times in any given day. He looks up at the girl, and asks her for change. �Sorry. I haven�t got any to spare,� she replies and returns his glimpse. � �s ok,� he replies, shrugging his shoulders. A man in a nice suit passes in front of them, and Joe asks for change. Not as much as a glance or admittance of Joe�s existence. Joe can even hear the change jangling in the businessman�s pocket. He sighs, ready to admit defeat, but looks to the next passerby for change. �Change?� No luck. �Change?� Joe can feel Anne�s eyes on him. He is indifferent to this gaze, considering it merely a child�s fascination or curiosity. She puts her hand into her pocket, and Joe can already feel the cool weight of the coins in his hands. �Hey, ya bum!� Joe hears. This is just one part of his daily routine. Every day, the same shopkeeper kicks him off of the sidewalk in front of his store, saying that it is bad for his business. While Joe has never seen the man follow through and actually call the police, he doesn�t want to stick around to find out if it�s an idle threat. His cold legs uncross, but are unable to hold his weight. The pain and ache in his feet throb and he struggles to keep upright. Stumbling backwards onto the street, Joe turns just in time to see the large SUV barreling toward him. �Oh...� Jill utters in surprise and shock. �Oh!� screams Anne. Stillness. Silence. Joe lies, barely alive and bleeding, on the asphalt. |