In a city like this, people change. We only leave our warm, plushy places with a new destination in mind, our lifestyle projects us forward, (like packets of data) shielded from the outside, through linear and streamlined cable streets. "You got any change?" - "Nah dude, I'm sorry." The response is programmed, less trouble than looking for something that usually isn't there in the first place.

But as I look up I see him. A man in his fourties, light brown hair, the skin not yet weathered - and the eyes of a child. Innocent, begging for sincere help (looking for something that usually isn't there in the first place); aware of the hypothermia and diseases that a life on the street is eventually accompanied by.

I have already passed him; I find myself half a block down with his plight on my mind and coins as hard as frostbite in my right pocket. Fishing for hope, I retrieve a handful of coins and small bills the same moment I turn... but he is gone.

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