Day 63: Penny for your thoughts

The same writing prompt as yesterday, but using the idiom: "A penny for your thoughts."

The homeless man sat down next to the executive. The executive made no outward movement, except to cross his right leg over his left, his moleskin chinos riding up his calf, exposing his cotton work sock and an inch of lightly tanned skin.

The executive continued to smoke his cigarette, knocking ash on the floor.

"Alright, fella" the homeless man said.

The executive nodded, looked away.

"You don't have a tab I could pinch, do you?"

"Sorry." The executive shook his head. "Last one."

The homeless man batted the apology away with his hand. "Don't worry."

The square was quieter now. You could hear the hum of taxi engines idling in the pick-up bay, the shush-clack of wheeled luggage, the rhythmic zwoosh of the automatic doors opening and closing. Above the two men the sun, bright all day, was finally going down. The light was draining from the world. There was a band of pink haze sailing to golden further down, and then, just before sky touched land, a line of brilliant blue, clear and deep as the first ocean of the world. Looking into it you could believe the universe just went on like that, uninterrupted, forever.

"Cheer up," the homeless man said. "It might never happen." He grinned with yellow teeth.

The executive pulled a brief, polite smile, made a noise in his throat that could have been one thing or the other.

"I mean it," the homeless man said. "You're best off letting it go. Don't sweat it. You know?"

The executive this time made no sound.

"I saw you here, I said to myself, there's a fella who's got his share. You can tell. Yeah. There's a bloke going through it. I saw you, I did. But am I wrong? Tell me I'm wrong."

"Everyone has their share," the executive said. His shirt was crisp. He either had barely sweated into it during the heat of the day, or had changed on the train.

"I knew it. Oh I knew it." The homeless man raised his arms, as if to accept praise from an audience. "You can tell. Yeah. You can always tell."

The executive stubbed his cigarette out, shifted his weight on the bench, coughed.

"Come on then, my man," the homeless man said. "What's eating you?"

- - -

Forty minutes later the executive stood up to leave. It was dark now, and there were fewer passers-by.

The executive looked at the homeless man. "Thank you," he said."I'm sorry. Thank you. And here--"

He thrust his hand into his pocket, brought out notes, pennies, the lot. He handed it all over.

The homeless man took the wad carefully, folded it, stood up, slipped the wad into the pocket of his filthy joggers. "Hey," he said to the executive. "Good luck. Seriously."

The executive didn't know what to say in return. The two men stood facing each other. Finally, the one man put out his hand, which the other man clasped in his. They both shook.

And then the executive, picking up his leather briefcase and dipping his head, moved off into the night.