Important

Block after block there is a man. Outstretched hands presenting a brown-stained Starbucks cup. Steadfast, I must look straight. Businesslike gait creating the illusion that I have somewhere important to go. A lie. The air between me and the cup and the hands and the man compresses in my brain. Like the air in the cylinder of a diesel engine right before spontaneous combustion. My hands silence any loose change. As I pass, glassy brown eyes ask “what’s up?” A downdraft washes over me. I can only respond “not much” attempting to retract my arrogance. Gunmetal blue buildings glare down at me. My hands remain in my pockets still gripping the coins. Cold to the touch.