Today i was doing errands not far from my house, in an area known as 'little Mexico', due to every store on that block being owned by and aimed at, the Spanish speaking population in the area. It's also full of pawn shops, pot holes, dive bars, hobos, gangsters, teenage mothers, and other shady sorts.
I was dropping off some mail at the post office, or 'poss offee', when a familiar looking homeless man asked me for change, which i didn't have, nor is it customary that i give any at all. After finishing going about my business, i was on my way out of the parking lot, when i finally remembered where i had known this man from.
Growing up, this guy was a barber that i used to go too. His place right across the street from where i just was, On The Go Haircuts it was called. I can't remember his name, but for a few years, I would place my skull in his hands, and trust him not to use his assortment of blades to slit my throat, rather to cut my hair. Entrusting a great deal of my head's cool factor to someone i didn't know was quite a feat for me at during my early teenage years. In what I'm guessing to be ten years, he's been reduced to asking for change to survive.
At first, i felt bad for not giving him change, and that would maybe make his life easier for a few moments, maybe a night. Not being able to help him get back on his feet made me realize that even if i did give him any spare change, i would still feel miserable about how his lot turned out.
So, with that i decided to keep the change i didn't have to give him, since it was going to make me feel just as bad, but guilt free.