They Both Die at the End

by Adam Silvera

There are no cars, but there’s a man on the corner up ahead tearing through trash bags, furiously, as if there’s a garbage truck approaching to steal them all away. It’s possible he’s searching for something he accidentally threw out, but judging by the split leg of his jeans and the grime on his rust-colored vest, it’s safe to guess he’s homeless. The man retrieves a half-eaten orange, tucks it into his armpit, and continues going through the trash bags. He turns toward us as we approach the corner. “Got a dollar? Any change?” I keep my head low, same as Rufus, and walk past the man. He doesn’t call after us or say anything else. “I want to give him some money,” I tell Rufus, even though it makes me really nervous to do so alone. I go through my pockets and find eighteen dollars. “Do you have some cash to give him, too?” “Not to be a dick, but why?” “Because he needs it,” I say. “He’s digging through trash for food.” “There’s a chance he’s not even homeless. I’ve been duped before,” he says. I stop. “I’ve been lied to before too.” I’ve also made the mistake of ignoring others asking for help, and it’s not fair. “I’m not saying we should give him our life savings, just a few bucks.”