I stopped in my tracks.
I glanced back into his eyes.
Behind the convex glass was something that I will never forget. They were dark spots, pleading for help. Yet here he was, silent. His mouth was in a neat frown; his face wrinkled by years of hardship.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the change from the back of my jeans pocket. $3.33. I tipped them into his used and empty coffee cup.
“Thank you,” he said. “Have a nice day, m’aam.”
He smiled. I smiled back.
Three dollars and thirty three cents. What a coincidence.