Sitting on the sidewalk in a little fragile heap is a man whom I've seen before. I think to myself, he was somebody's baby once. 

I scramble for loose change at the bottom of my purse. The sound has his attention and he looks at me with a broken and filthy smile. I smile back apologetically and empty my palm of nickels, pennies and dimes into the empty plastic cup.

Noisy commuters fill the coffee shop as I step into line. The smell of baked goods fills the air. I finger through my wallet, and hand the cashier a twenty.