Dear Panhandler on my train,
I hear you. I see you. But I wish you weren't here. I never know whether to help you or turn away. You make me argue against myself because even though you try to pull at our heartstrings with your just-out-of-prison-got-nowhere-to-go story, a part of me doesn't fully believe you. Blame the man on the 1 train whose wallet gets "stolen" every other day.
I can't fact check you or look up your records. I'm even skeptical about that limp of yours. I want to help you and wish better for you, I really do, but I don't want to be taken for a fool. Are you really going to use our money for food or are you going to smoke it all tonight?
And what sucks is that you might actually need help and are doing your best to get your life back together, but I'm more concerned about feeding some addiction you might have. So I'll consider offering you food, but you're not getting my change.
Maybe I'll go to Hell for this or maybe I won't. But if I do, maybe I'll see you there if you lied to all these people who gave their money to you.
All my best,
Dorkys
Image: robertamsterdam.com
