Tuesday, May 21, 2013

They Say the City Thickens Your Skin

The air is clammy as the sun begins to set. Outside the grocery store, two of the beggars that routinely spare-change on the corner by the bank stand by the dumpster, closely examining a shrink-wrapped styrofoam tray of brownish meat. 

When I come out of the store, provisions in hand, they're gone, along with the meat and a box of wilted vegetables. I turn up the block and head home, unconcerned.

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