I sit at the table in the corner of Don’s Diner. I have no money and no intention to pay for my food. We have a very special tradition at Don’s. And no It’s not the five finger discount.
We call it “Lucky Lunches”.
This tradition is done for one homeless man every hour. If I guess which plate Don made.. I get to eat it.. I’ve never won and I know there won’t be a next time. Food is desolate on the streets. And I know the next chance I’d probably be able to get this chance among the other local bums won’t be fast enough to save my life.
The usual crowd gathers around me like I’m an animal. Looking for some form of perverse entertainment. I ignore them.
Don walks up with the two dishes. One is a chicken pot pie.. And the other one is a steak and lays them on the table.
Unlike the other hobos; I look at Don not the food. I find no help. Don is a portly man with a big heart so I choose the pot pie.
Don looks at me and points at the steak.
My heart sinks. I will die.
He takes the steak and walks away…