Down Salubrious Road, there was a spot just like any other spot. Here, in this place, leaning his tired back against the grimey, brick wall, sat an old beggar who appeared like any other old beggar who leaned his back on a brick wall. With a hand shivering from the cold, the beggar placed his chipped, grey cup out by his boots. He was now open for business.

His first potential customer was a dashing,young man with a smile and eyes that shone with ego. His muscled arm was draped possessively on the shoulders of a busty brunette. The young lady’s bright eyes were focused on the tall buildings, grumpy people, and fearless pigeons instead of him. He was simply a muscled arm around her shoulders.

The beggar didn’t think much of the young man either. His posture was aggressive and his eyes frequently glanced down his date’s shirt. He babbled about old high school glory days that were slowly being butchered by time instead of adequately watching where or who he was plowing through as he walked. The beggar knew his type: people who scoffed at the weak and kicked them when they were down. The beggar huddled in closer on himself, for he didn’t need anything from this self-absorbed jerk.
The young man was soon close enough to the beggar to give a quick jab of the foot and after a second to process the opportunity, thick fingers dug out change from the pocket of his letterman jacket. There was no kick.
In their one moment of contact, as the handsome man dropped some change in the dirty cup, the beggar took note that the other’s eyes were trained on the cup. The young man noticed the smell that clung to the beggar. As he stepped away, he had to repress the gag that rose due to the nauseating stink of human skin that’s missed over a thousand showers. Men with “hearts of gold” didn’t show their repulsion of the people they helped… neither did lecherous actors playing the part so they can score.

When he returned to his date, he had on a charming smile and his posture was slightly perked in anticipation. Reward? Rewarded he was as the lady’s eyes focused on him and she returned his smile with a gentle curve of her lips.

“So… what was it like playing football again?” The two continued on their evening stroll, prattling about games but now his arm wound around her waist and her eyes never roamed. Still leaning against the wall and still huddled against cold, the beggar muttered under his breath.

“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
There was barely anyone around to hear or care but it was all the same. He waited. His next customers came soon enough.

“Oh yeah? Well, I don’t chase the birds.”

“Who cares? I share my candy with my little brother on Halloween!”

“Your mom told you to! I help my mom with the dishes.”

“I clean my own room all by myself. I even make my bed!”

“I brush my sister’s hair and help her get ready for school!”

“I help my mom make dinner!”

“I volunteer at my church!”

“Oh yeah? I help the poor!” With that, doubtful silence halted their one-upping. The boasted claim needed a demonstration. A demonstration that the beggar didn’t believe would happen. Children could barely comprehend what a stranger truly was let alone one nearly opposite from them in society. He imagined that the children would become frightened with their lack of understanding and they would lose all of their conviction. They would trudge away from the man whose life they didn’t understand.
The beggar did not expect the young girl, all bundled in her winter coat, to stride with confidence to the beggar’s cup.From her comfy coat pocket, a dollar was brought out and put into the cup. In the few seconds it took for the dollar to travel from pocket to cup, the girl counted the wrinkles on the old beggar’s face. She was no older than eight and the concept of aging fascinated her. The process of someone’s youthful glow drying up into a saggier version of himself was just plain weird. The moment of wonder soon passed.
“See?” the girl said as she turned back to her friend who grumbled in his defeat. The contest was over, the victor decided, and their attention drifted to another squabble. The beggar was alone again.
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
The next customer was a suit and tie hurrying through his day like all other businessmen. The beggar wouldn’t recognize this man even if the suit had breezed past him a hundred times on a hundred different days.
This was a man of charts and statistics, someone who placed blame on the outliers. An accuser who was convinced that if misfortune were to fall upon you it is always your own fault and would take a higher power’s miracle to get you out of it. Why spend his precious time and hard-earned money to help? The beggar was nothing more than part of the background: just a broken puzzle piece that doesn’t fit anywhere and therefore ignored so it wouldn’t mess up the whole picture.
The suit stormed down the street, apparently in a hurry to be upset about something.The shipment was faulty, the wife was a banshee in their degrading romance, and Timmy had chosen a perfect time to break his arm. In the suit’s mind, the conclusion was simple: everything had gone to s***.
However, at the same time the thought occured in his head, his eyes fell upon the ragged clothes of the beggar. The thinning attire with rips and tears almost seemed like a fashion statement. Despite the many layers, holes still let the freezing wind bite at the hunched old man. The suit’s conclusion was quickly reconsidered and the jingle of change jostled in the air.
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
The business man glanced back at the beggar, a confused look on his face. Had he heard right? It didn’t matter, his phone was buzzing again.
The sun had progressed in its setting. The streets were bathed in harsh orange light, the sun’s last endeavor for attention. The next customer did not scowl at its brightness. Instead she embraced it with a welcoming smile and her head held high.
A woman of religion. However, the beggar would have placed the little money he had on a bet that she was more of an idealist than a saint. A person who thrived off of the image of a selfless, devout member of a lost society and who helped it back to glory. Although, when it was time to help another in the flesh, instead via checkbook, she would check out. Her motto, even if she wasn’t consciously aware of it, was: Protect Yourself. Anyone Unlike You Will Hurt You.
The beggar expected to smell the panic when the woman came closer, but when she saw the beggar, she opened her purse immediately. She had a dollar and a few coins of change to spare, but she thought his smile was worth much more than the donation. She noted that his teeth were actually well-kept. They weren’t sparkling white, but they weren’t rotting away into blackened stumps. One of her hands came up to clasp the simplistic, silver cross dangling from her neck.
“May God be with you.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day,” was the beggar’s response but she had already gone past the corner, her mind wandering to thoughts of heaven and hell. The burning orange had faded further into a purplish blue. The stark cold had become bitter by the time the last customer came down the street.
He was wound tight with the energy of a hunted rabbit. A five dollar bill was clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes darted to every street corner and alley like a guilty man’s before a verdict. They latched onto the beggar with hope peeking through his air of self-blame.
He looked directly into the beggar’s eyes as he dropped the bill into the cup but it was another pair that this last customer was really seeing: a pair that was blue instead of brown.
The two eyes that haunted him for days with invisible pointing fingers and blaming anger, pierced him with their glare of starvation and accusal. They had belonged to a man with similar fortune as this beggar. They belonged to a man who had taken his life. The money was the last customer’s offering, his apology. He couldn’t take that wretched stare anymore.
Every day as this man walked to work, he had ignored the plea of those blue eyes. Everywhere, there were hundreds of stares just like that one. The customer had never been an overflowing fountain of good will or wealth so who could blame him for not reaching out to every poor sap?
But then one day, when he was off to work as usual, the homeless man with the eternally glaring eyes gave up. The man with no home and nothing to miss walked out into traffic. In broad daylight, with a raging, oncoming torrent of killing machines, red was smeared onto the streets. When the dust of the screaming chaos settled, the sour soul had left those blue eyes but their last condemning gaze had remained on this last customer. They had never left him and they never blinked. Until now, for as the five dollar bill slid into the cup they slid closed.
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day,” the beggar said to the relieved man as he got to his weary feet. Pulling his dirty coat tighter and cup grasped firmly in one hand, the beggar shuffled down the street. It was time to head to a warmer place.