Broadway Avenue Panhandler

Misery gazed through beer-stained blur, Despair in faded jeans; enslaved by his habit, his outstretched claw beseeched me donate to his cause. A ghost begged another ride on his addiction. His wretchedness reached out and slapped me lonely; the squalid secrets of his torment displayed like a ***** movie. An apparition of journey’s end, the destination of choices not chosen. His shabby figure beckons me consider - Where is my port of call? He shuffled his approach with eyes lurking despondent, reached out shabby sleeves to accept my oblation then clutching the prize to his chest two-stepped back to his prerogative.