literotics
Mama said, "Don't look. Don't make eye contact. Let's get home."
The coins in his cup are what draw my attention. They clink and jingle and rattle, and I'm not sure if he's shaking them on his own or if his hand is simply quivering from the cold. I don't feel it as much as I could, but my coat is thick. He wears only rags, only pieces of a garment. I look him over, but in spells -- I don't want to make eye contact. But why? Why do I keep my eyes away from his? I don't know. It's just the way things are.
Don’t look. Don’t make eye contact. Get home.
I leave him behind without adding anything to his cup.