You Make Beautiful Things

Usually, I just pass by with a glance, read their life story without making eye contact so my wallet doesn’t feel sympathy, but this time, his cardboard sign screamed at my heart. It was as if his soul breathed hope onto what he wraps himself in at night. His cried out eyes had a thick layer of fog over the pupil, nostrils were cracked, wrinkles grinned dog fur white. Yesterday, in Palo Alto, I gave a homeless man money, my freedom only cost three dollars.