This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.
Back at the rehab facility, the night clerk was sitting behind her desk. She buzzed me in.
I took off my shoes and lay down on the bed. I put down my hand penciled sign. I was exhausted after my three-mile walk. I counted the money I had collected that day: forty-two dollars and 15 cents.
I am allowed to beg in front of the store three days a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from nine a.m. until two p.m.
Most people ignore me. Some throw coins. One lady today asked me I she could get me something.
“Milk,” I said.