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.
Oh Danny Boy! 
An interesting look at the day in the life of…
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He’s in a rehab. Milk, not alcohol. This is a very well-drawn portrait of the struggle.
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That last line is a killer. Well done.
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This really tugged at the heartstrings. His request for milk made me wonder how old he is. Very touching take on the prompt.
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Never asked but I would guess around 30-35. Thanks for stopping by.
DK
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Very touching.
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Some choose that way of life, others have no choice. Beautifully written.
Click to read my FriFic!
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The plight of the addicted is always touching. This diary style entry is effective. Well done Danny.
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Danny, this really pulled at my heartstrings. The way you walked us through the day and finished with a simple request. I think this is one of your best.
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Thanks for the kind words Alicia.
DJ
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My pleasure.
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It sounds like he is on his way back in small steps
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Oh! beautiful!!! Very well done.
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Loved this. Simple but very effective.
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Thanks for stopping by.
DJ
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A great and very well written take .
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Thanks for the nice comment.
DJ
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Progress of sorts. Very well portrayed.
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Turned a corner, then. Nicely done.
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How timely this is, DJ. We were downtown this afternoon and got caught at a red light. A panhandler got up, showed us his sign and waved to us, making the sign for smoking a cigarette. What?! He wants money for smokes? The light turned green….
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Some people!!!!!!
DJ
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