It was the quiet way he asked for money when I passed him, seated on a plastic crate with a pair of crutches laying [lying?] across his lap. I was a half-mile away from home, and had just come up from the subway; I could only experience the back of his head. I walked by, I was tired, but the voice nagged. A half block later, I stopped and turned round. I approached him: “Cologne”, I said, “Is that you?” His eyes were bleary, his face looked disheveled, and his clothes well slept in. He nodded a yes. He then asked for money. “I’m really hungry”, he said. ‘So’, I said, “It is you! Huh. We had a conversation the other day, a long one…” I could see him trying to sort me out from all the other folk of a certain description…”And”, I continued, “Now you have the crutches and there’s something else going on with you.” He focused his bloodshot eyes on me, “I’m sorry to disappoint you Ma’am”, he said, “But I’m Hungry.” [Appetite apparently kicks in when one is coming down from something?]. “It’s not about me, Cologne”, I said, feeling more helpless than ever; all I could do was turn around and walk away.