Begging For A Buck
The most painful part of a beggar’s life came from the people that despise beggars. Cries of: “Go get a job you bum” were always ringing in my ears. I was often spat upon, and the wetness of saliva became a part of my face. Policemen and store owners were always chasing me away; they had me be constantly on the move. The swift blow of a policeman’s club on my rear end was the most discouraging part of a bad day. The store owners were more tactful, they didn’t want an eyesore in front of their door, so they gave me a dollar to take my body elsewhere. My biggest fear was to be set on fire by a gang of sadistic youths. I heard stories that beggars were being doused with gasoline and burned alive. There was no way for me to avoid that nightmare; I could only hope it never happened to me.
I often ask myself why I chose such a difficult lifestyle when so many more respectful avenues were open to me, like a decent job. I always get the same answer, and that answer makes me continue being a beggar: There is no feeling that is as wonderful as the feeling I get when some kind person hands me a buck. At that moment of enlightenment I come to the realization that I am worth something as a human being, even if it’s only more then a buck.
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Retired and single
http://360.yahoo.com/melvin_polatnick
melvin-polatnick@yahoo.com













