Talon of God

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“Spare some change for a veteran?”

His words were empty, barely loud enough to be heard over the trains thundering on the elevated rail overhead. Some days, Lenny didn’t know why he bothered. No one listened. Most of them didn’t even look. They just walked by at top speed with their eyes locked on their phones, the sidewalk, the sky—anywhere but the homeless man huddled in his nest of newspapers, rattling his paper cup.

Lenny didn’t blame them. He couldn’t stand the sight of himself, either. Or, at least, he couldn’t when he was there. Present. Sometimes he drifted away, lost into memories that felt more real than the late November cold. When that happened, he didn’t care about anything. This afternoon, though, he was most definitely here. Here and hungry, so he kept at it, repeating the words and rattling his cup at every person who passed.

“Spare some change for a veteran?” Rattle rattle.

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