the dollar menu

He stands in the median with a “HOMELESS” sign. He is there every day. A scrutinizing eye sees no obvious signs of filth or decadence. He smiles. A scrutinizing mind wonders: why? Should he not be dirty and sad and depressed, even suicidal? And why is he homeless? A bad turn of personal economy? Tragedy? Mental … issues? And why does his presence elicit such conjecture and wondering? A driver rolls down a window and hands him a dollar, washing away – wishing away? – all the questions, at least for the moment. One conscience sated. At a bargain. A buck. What a deal.