The other day I saw you on the off-ramp with your lovely, patch-work
cotton sleeve skirt and moth-eaten jersey cotton hoodie.
You had a cardboard sign which read something along the lines of "Help a Human Out" or "Give Me Your Money, I Can Smile".
A man to the back and right hand side of my vehicle motioned you onto the ramp during our stoppage of red-light. He gave you a dollar, maybe a 5 dollar bill.
You took it, and nervously penguined your chubby little frame back to your grassy dandelion knoll as you shoved the currency into your broken pocket. You put your cardboard back up against your breast and I drove on as the green bulb blinked on.
This morning I saw you hiding behind an electric fuse box off the Exit 12 ramp.
You were on your cellphone.
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