The Good Samaritan (my day today)

I had to assess him first.

He didn't look like a drug addict, his clothes didn't look dirty or tattered, his shoes weren't worn, only his face - no the expression on his face - ached with poverty.

"Hey bruv' can you help me please?"

He had intercepted me near the entrance of a coveted guilty pleasure.

"I need to eat but I don't have any money can you spare some change?"

And that's when I had to assess him.

"What do you need?"

He showed a lone timid finger and gave a commentary with its erection, "A pound.... just one fifty" and faded to a pause. His eyes on mine.

"Aight cool, come through" and we entered the eatery.

I wasn't shocked at the modest allowance he asked seeing as how Luton is the national darling of poultry farmers, having as it does at times a contiguous block of four "Chicken'n'Chip" shops and yet more across the road and a half dozen more within hundred paces. The very one we entered was flanked by two others on its right side and what baffles most is not their economic endurance in such fierce competition but the sanity of the proprietor who was opening another within eyesight. And they all serve their delicacies in orange and red boxes or blue and red with uniform slogans of "Finger Lickin' Good" interposed with an animated rooster who, proud nay flattered by the slogan, seems to smile and with feathery fingers pointing at himself in cheery treasonous complicity.

He followed me in. I was thinking that I would have to break my contiguous wealth but after rustling my wallet found the correct change and gave him.

I wanted to ask what had happened to leave him stranded in town without food, did he have a way to get home - why hadn't he asked for money to get home - didn't he have any friends he could call? I stood in line, he sat behind. It didn't add up. He tapped my shoulder.

"Can you add fifty more?"

"No."

It was a reflexive response, fifty didn't mean much more but I was still trying to figure the situation. With a smile however he offered a fisted but friendly hand towards me and I clinched it with my own knuckle-ly clench.

"Safe bruv, I appreciate it man, cheers"

"No worries dude"

And he slinked out the door and into a cold Lutonian night.



************



The scene above today at least took my mind off a half-assed haircut I had just had by a man more butcher than barber who'd left my scalp bleeding. As to the hungry stranger I didn't ask him any questions thinking my charity, not solely because of its modesty, didn't warrant intrusion. Only now in reflexive calm can I see that had I not been caught so off guard by his request I might have rationalized he might need a sympathetic ear.

Time for a drink.