written by Nakeysha Roberts Washington
First Published in Wisconsin’s Emerging Writers: An Anthology of Nonfiction
It is his blackness. He stops at the tables. His deep voice lifts slightly above a whisper, “Sir, do you have some change?” At another table, “Spare change?”
A woman, whose face Time has yet to fissure, poignantly sits. She is regal. Her skin is a creamy caramel. Her hair is a perfectly couiffured pepper gray fro. As he approaches her and presents his request, she stops and grips her face with her left hand, takes a deep sigh while she drags her hand down the length of her face. She opens her momentarily closed eyes as her hand passes them. She turns to him as irritated as I am with his requests. She felt it too. She utters something inaudible. He turns away sans receipt of that which is to deliver his salvation.