En route to the airport, I was casually holding a pizza box that now only contained three slices after devouring half of it and giving away one to some grand hag before hoping on the train. A bum had caught sight of the box, which gave him this invisible obligation to approach me and ask for a slice. He had reeked of mad piss, a shaggy beard that was in deep need of a cut, and thrifty clothing from a year before today's. The scent was too strong, too vicious - I gave him a slice before he could articulate his request for a slice. This time, I didn't feel bad for him, as I usually do with the homeless folk. I felt anger toward him. I'm not well-aware of this man's past, but there seems to be a bleak ambience of avoidance that eventually just builds up after encountering a great number of bums. Half of them were sincerely asking for assistance, while the other half (the scum of the planet) merely adventured for cupidity and total advantage of the ones who try, at least to some extent.
I gave the bastard the cold shoulder and exited the train, no longer interested in being surrounded by that stench and by that failed seeker.
I named him Turtle, because he reminds me of those fucking Ninja Turtles who love pizza.
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