a freewrite.

there's nothing like a bit of whiskey to ease a winter's eve, three days 'til christmas, chestnut street alive with pious
consumers who'll weep over debt in january, sweeping by an old black man leaning on a cane.
he speaks softly, as if asking himself for the change. i, too turn a cheek and sidle by.

however, he catches my eye as i leave the state store, his voice but a whisper. i dig in my purse and hand him five bucks.
"promise me you're going to buy something to eat," i say.
he assures me and says, "merry christmas," though it wouldn't matter if he turned into the liquor store and bought a pocket-sized bottle to warm his belly in the cold.
i can't say i wouldn't have done the same.