The cold November air bit at her cheeks as Sarah walked down Fifth Street, clutching a paper bag filled with a warm sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. In her pocket, a small bundle of cash. She glanced around, searching for the man she’d seen yesterday.
He’d been sitting on the pavement near the corner where her bus stop was. His thin, gray hair had peeked out from beneath a tattered beanie, and his coat—if you could call it that—was more holes than fabric. His voice had been hoarse but gentle when he asked, “Spare any change, miss?”
Sarah had faltered, patting her coat pockets in futility. “I’m sorry,” she’d said with an apologetic smile. “I only have cards.”
The man had nodded, his chapped lips curling up slightly, though his sunken eyes betrayed disappointment. “No worries, miss. God bless you anyway.”
That moment had stayed with her all night, gnawing at her. While she’d sat in her heated apartment, eating takeout, the image of the man, cold, hungry, and polite, kept surfacing. She had everything, and he had nothing.
Now, here she was, walking down the same street, hoping to see him again. She passed the bus stop and scanned the sidewalks. There were others milling about—office workers rushing, a group of teenagers laughing loudly, but no sign of him.
She slowed her pace, peering into every shadowed doorway, every nook where someone might seek refuge from the chill.
Where could he be?
After circling the block twice, she finally stopped by a coffee cart and asked the vendor, “Have you seen an older man, kind of frail, sitting around here yesterday?”
The vendor, a stout woman with kind eyes, frowned in thought. “You mean George?”
Sarah’s heart leapt. “I don’t know his name, but maybe? He was sitting near the corner.”
The vendor sighed. “Yeah, that’s George. He’s been around here for years. Sweet man.” Her voice dropped. “But I’m afraid you won’t find him today.”
“Why not? Did he move somewhere else?”
The vendor hesitated, then lowered her voice. “He passed away last night.”
Sarah blinked, unsure if she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“Yeah,” the vendor said softly. “They found him early this morning, just down the alley there. Heart failure, they said. Probably from the cold.”
Sarah felt her knees weaken. “No, that can’t be. He was... he was just here yesterday. He looked... tired, but he was alive.”
The vendor nodded sympathetically. “It happens fast sometimes. Poor guy. He didn’t deserve that.”
The world seemed to tilt around Sarah. She clutched the bag tighter, her vision blurring as tears welled up. “I should’ve... I should’ve done something yesterday. I should’ve...”
The vendor placed a warm hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known.”
But Sarah barely heard her. The guilt hit her like a wave, pulling her under. She stood there, frozen, the weight of the paper bag suddenly unbearable.
Later that evening, Sarah found herself at home, staring at the untouched sandwich on her kitchen table. She couldn’t bring herself to eat it. Instead, she wrapped it carefully, as if it still had a purpose. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with it, but she knew she couldn’t throw it away.
Outside, the cold wind howled, indifferent to the lives it had claimed.
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