Counting The Last Coins
Fingerless gray gloves slid across the cold metal tabletop, pushing two crumpled dollar bills and a handful of nickels into a small pile.
An elderly man in a heavy charcoal coat leaned over the table, his breath rising in pale clouds into the chill morning air.
He checked the worn leather wallet resting between his palms, thumbing through the empty compartments once more.
There was nothing else inside.
His fingers separated the copper and silver coins, sliding them across the scratched surface to tally the total needed for a hot drink.
He folded the two bills into his palm, gathered the remaining change, and pushed himself up from the outdoor metal chair.
He stepped toward the warm glass doorway of the coffee shop, pulling the brass handle back to step inside.
A Choice At The Doorstep
Before his foot crossed the threshold, his gaze shifted downward toward the sidewalk curb.
A man wearing a soiled safety vest sat slumped over a black plastic crate against the brick wall.
The worker’s hands rested heavily on his knees, his shoulders bowed low toward the concrete, eyes fixed on the ground.
The older man paused just inches from the warm doorway, letting the glass door swing quietly shut behind him.
He looked at the crumpled bills held tightly in his gloved fingers.
He took two steps across the pavement, extending his arm straight out toward the seated worker.
The worker looked up, his brow furrowing as he noticed the outstretched hand offering the money.
He reached out, his bare fingers closing around the bills as the older man released them.
Without a word, the senior turned away from the storefront, tucked his bare knuckles deep into his coat pockets, and walked down the street.
A Walk Down The Cold Block
His dark coat swayed with each slow stride along the quiet sidewalk, passing closed metal shutters and parked delivery vans.
He kept his head upright, his scarf tucked close against the breeze as he put distance between himself and the cafe.
A few paces ahead, a younger man in a bright orange vest approached from the opposite direction, holding a paper bag and a tall paper cup.
The worker slowed his pace, stepping directly into the path of the older man with an open grin.
He reached forward with both hands, extending the steaming paper coffee cup and the brown pastry bag toward the senior’s chest.
The older man stopped mid-step, his eyes widening slightly as he pulled his hands out from his coat pockets.
The worker tapped the senior gently on the shoulder, pressing the warm paper bag and cup firmly into his grasp.
The older man’s lips parted into a wide smile, his gray beard lifting as he nodded his head toward the younger man.
Warmth In Cold Hands
The worker stepped back with a parting nod, leaving the older man standing along the curb.
The elderly man wrapped both of his knit-covered hands securely around the cardboard sleeve of the coffee cup.
Thin wisps of white steam curled upward from the plastic sipping lid into the frosty morning air.
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