Intersection

At the red light, the man approached the stopped cars. His hair was long and dirty; one shoulder hunched and one arm hanging useless. At window after window, he offered a plastic cup with his good hand and mouthed a silent plea for coins. At window after window, heads shook him away.

When the light changed to green before he reached me, I was relieved. I drove away too fast, tossing him an apologetic smile as he blurred past my window. In my rearview mirror, he stood despondent on the concrete.

And immediately, I was ashamed of myself.