Dear Homeless Guy: I Don’t Care If You Buy Crack With The Dollar I Gave You

I forget the particulars of his pitch and the ways in which he managed to sweet talk me, but before I even knew what was happening, I was reaching into the pocket of my suede fringe vest and handing him the ten dollar bill through the open passenger side window. I didn’t need to look over and see the murderous look on my friend’s face to appreciate the gravity of what I’d just done.

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About Bill

Birder, cat-lover, pilot, poet. Former lounge lizard, pauper, pagan, lifeguard, chauffeur,cop and martial artist, turned pacifist addiction writer. Tries to be a good husband, father and brother, and makes a decent friend. Likes to take pictures. Stumbling down the Middle Path, one day at a time.

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