Every morning he’s there, his cart heaped with bags, staring at our coffees and scones. I always step around his mess, head to the hospital to crunch admissions, discharges, deaths, but today my iced caramel macchiato feels heavier, his eyes harder. I hand him my drink. He shuffles away, not even a thank you.
Oh wow - I love the vividness of this vignette. It was kind of you to give him the coffee, but also sad that his life is hard enough apparently to erase his feeling of gratitude. You really packed a lot into four sentences!
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