Begging

Nonfiction/Real Life/Musings

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This is the first in a sporadic series of nonfiction posts. It is the only one that will be public. They are part of paid subscriptions to Roulette Weal, which will continue to provide you with daily fiction until I go completely twisting off into the madness created by…trying to create compelling daily fiction.

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I have a few friends who ask for money near the local party stores. This is how I met them, how they became my friends.

My guess is that if I had a friend from a more stable station in life whose life devolved or spun out, I’d try to catch them before they reached the point of begging.

But these particular friends were already at an unfortunate place.

The friendships evolved during sporadic encounters. I’m not Mother Theresa. I’m just a guy going to the party store for lottery tickets and an energy drink or 8 (yes, I’m exaggerating and I’m cutting back on them anyway) and generally I can spare a buck for people who don’t lie to me.

(Tell me your car broke down or you just need bus fare twice and I am fucking done. Tell me with a straight face you need change for vodka and I’m probably springing for the entire half pint).

The guy I see most frequently is in a wheelchair, has cancer and can be one of the more ornery hustlers I’ve ever encountered.

He’s not homeless. He lives around the corner in a decent apartment and is on disability, but it doesn’t cover enough to make him happy.

He doesn’t do the phony pleasant, “God bless” bullshit. He’ll snap “Gimmie a fucking dollar, I’m tryin’ to get some vodka.”

That kind of approach is cool with me most times.

It’s also a defense mechanism. It took over a year, but he finally told me what psychologists, social workers, and community activists have been trying to tell people about the underserved for decades: He’s lonely.

He told me this because I spend time with him. I don’t flip a buck in his lap and walk by without eye contact. I’ve seen people do that to him. Multiple times. Like he’s a fucking fountain and they’re making a wish, like the dollar isn’t for his benefit, but for theirs.

My friend admits that he’s lonely (how many males of any economic status have the guts to do that?), which I had basically surmised and followed it up with this:

“You ain’t gotta wait to see me on this damn corner. Come by my house. Knock on the door. I need some damn company.”

Everyone does. I want this to be a reminder, not a lecture, so I’m stopping right here.

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Photo by Rudro Hossain on Unsplash