Kidnapped Beggar

I bumped into a beggar at the side of the street today while I was walking to get to the cluster. Not that I don’t see beggars any other day. I just thought I would write about this one certain brief encounter which I will go into detail later. He was probably in his mid 50s, bald, heavy, quite short with a pot belly, and definitely looked well-fed, with a tattooed sleeve. I don’t quite remember how he stopped me, but he asked for ten pence; which at first I though he said ‘champagne’ and ‘champagnes’. And I said no. Quite simply because I had no idea what he was saying. But at the same time I also didn’t want to leave not knowing what he was actually saying. Rude. So, I took my time, and after a couple of “sorry, what was that?” I finally understood what he was saying, whether I’ve got some spare change to hand; a ten pence. I had my wallet in my hand. Of course.

This is the part which had compelled me to write. So while I was at at, unzipping and digging into my coin section. He was going on about how he was kidnapped last week, and had £200 in his pocket at the time. I feel bad, but to be honest, I really don’t care; and my brain was not even affected, and therefore, wasn’t even going to take its time to process whether it should process the information into something believable or otherwise. An absolute, complete rejection and refusal by any cells in my body to believe anything. I do not know why. I guess I do not need explanation. I mean, if he had not told me the tale of his kidnapping, I think I would have not consumed myself for a couple of minutes, whether he was trying to justify himself for needing some spare change, or trying to gain my sympathy. I am not quite sure what or why. But I honestly do not mind handing him some spare change, preferrably without any explaination.

Never explain. Your enemies won’t believe it; your friends don’t need it. I don’t need your explanation, my man. I think it just made it worse. I am not even sure worse in what sense; but the fact that it made me have some strange after-effect from it, doesn’t feel too nice on my part. I really don’t want to even think or feel about the legitimacy of the phenomena. Because I was sincere, and this feeling and thoughts that I had; depreciated it. I shouldn’t be questioning it. And I do not like that. Gaddamn.