A passerby has given you a twenty dollar bill, thinking you are homeless.
You have enough to buy some more cans of soup.
You must venture into town.
You brace yourself, and step into the city limits.
“Sweetie it’s nice you want to help, but sometimes you should just… leave them alone…”
“There’s a lot of con artists out here in Colourtown, all pretending to be them.”
“They understand if you don’t give them anything, it’s alright.”
“Don’t be a fucking moron. Don’t talk to hobos.”
Sterling liked to think he was raised well and that, for the most part, his parent’s words have yet to fail him. But there he sat, taking his break outside on the bench outside Colourbucks, watching a homeless person trudging in from the woods like he’s a man on a mission. Hell, the guy probably was. At the same time though he looked like simply walking into the city was enough reason to catch on fire. Maybe he was lost. Maybe he had some sort of anxiety disorder. Sure, he’s not supposed to talk to guys like that but…
It couldn’t hurt to talk to a hobo ONCE, could it? By god he was a full grown man! The baristo could take great care of himself, thank you very much.
“Aah… mister?” No, he was probably much too quiet. “Mister!” Much better, much louder. “Sir do you need any help?” Money, directions, a place to wash his laundry efficiently…