I was walking across the marketplace when I noticed she changed her direction so we would meet. I didn't know if she did purposefully or not so I changed my angle slightly. She matched that one too.

"She a beggar," crossed my mind as I continued to walk straight and when I was close enough she started with her story about how she needed money for the train. There is always that instant moment when I want to explain that I'm not buying their story; that I know there is no train to catch but I never do. I figure: what's the point?

I had just settled my bar bill so I knew about how much I had in my pocket, it was more than I usually give. I was straightening the few bills I pulled from my pocket as she continued with her story. I have a habit of unfolding all the corners and lining up the bills so they are all facing the same way. After I finished with the bills in my hand I reached for what was left and arranged them to the others.

I was watching the space just to the left of her. She was watching the money. It was close to thirty eight bucks; it was all the paper money I had. Her story wasn't anything I haven't heard a dozen of times before; and she didn't look particularly needy but I just handed it to her anyway. I think she thanked me. I don't really know I was too busy walking away.