Twenty paces down, a black guy selling the Street Sheet, probably the same age. I had nothing left in my pocket — no change, no cash — and I didn’t make eye contact. Passing him, I said ‘Sorry, man. I just gave away my last change.’ ‘I didn’t say nothing to you.’

I looked back over my shoulder toward him, but not at him, while walking away: ‘Well, I saw the—’ ‘Yeah, yeah… Didn’t even say Good day.’