Hunger

Yesterday, I took a walk down to the reflecting pool on the National Mall. It's finally reopened after 2 years of renovation, now returned to its full site-of-the-Forrest-and-Jennie-reunion glory.

On the walk back home, I became almost frantically hungry, so I stopped for a quick bite at a place downtown dubbed the "Indian Chipotle." I sat down in front of my chickpea, lamb, and veggie bowl in a window alcove—the better to people-watch those on the sidewalk while listening to the radio on my iPod.

About halfway through my meal, someone from behind started speaking to me. I turned around to a young homeless man. He said something like, "Excuse me, I have to tell you something." I paused, then looked away. He asked if he could sit down. I turned back with what I know was an ugly,ugly expression on my face and said, "I'm just trying to eat my lunch." In other words, Leave me alone. I don't want to deal with this. It could be a scam. You might steal from me. And even: I'm a little afraid of you.

When I turned away again, he wandered over to the food counter. I looked down at my half-eaten dish. I was actually full already, seems like all restaurants give glutton portions these days. I thought about catching him on the way out and offering the rest of my food; I really hadn't touched that part. I resolved to do it, but then he walked out the door. And the opportunity slipped by. Or I let it.

I looked down at my food.

I ate it all. My stomach hurt for the rest of the day.