And then. . .

"Hello"               "Boo!"                                                   "Two's company. Three's a crowd."                                                                     "Isn't it Prozac?" "What are you doing?"                                                 "Definitely awesome!"                          "Fucking stress!!!! I hate UTEP HR!!   "It's like a box you know? I can't be put in a box."                   ...

Today as I drove I found myself being privy to images. As I sat in my car on the access road, sun streaming in through the windshield, making me squint even with sunglasses on I stared as a small man walked from car to car begging for change. Usually I am not struck by this, and I always turn my face when they walk past my car. But today, I watched as this old emaciated man shuffled from a sapphire blue truck to a white beat up Buick, with one handing holding his faded black jeans up. His bony body swam in the pants and they came up far above his waist. What amazed me was that he still had his washed out polo tucked into the pants. The last shred of dignity perhaps that he could control? He looked like an old little boy with hollowed out eyes that life had taken. When he walked to my window I couldn't turn away this time. Instead I held out the only money I had, a handful of quarters, dimes, pennies. His hand smaller and more withered than mine struggled to hold what had fit just...