He was in front of me in the cue. Heading towards the tills. He had a dirty smutch on his left cheek. Ruffled clothes. Loneliness hugging  his hanging shoulders.

Then I saw it. He had a wrapped soap in his hands. And some pieces of silvery money. The bare minimum.

I grabbed the nearest item, a sugary dough nut, and followed him. At the till he presented his item, a cheap piece of soap. To wash.  Somewhere at a spare tap. Some sense of cleanliness prevailing . Sadness. Sadness.

I shoved him away from the tiller. Said I will pay for the soap. And the doughnut. She shoved the silver money back to him. He took it. Flabbergasted about the happening.

He looked my way. I thumbed him a positive gesture. He slowly walked away. With his cheap piece of soap. Towards a tap somewhere. He had a doughnut to fight vicious hunger. And I was more than somewhat ashamed about my easy way of handling the suffering of a human being. Even as the till-lady looked at me like I was some kind of Messiah. I deemed myself a mere conman to ease substantial consciousness.    

Tonight, I cry for that lost soul.