On the way home

The last time I gave money out of compassion was a few months ago when, late as late nights go, I was alone in a tunnel with a busker who was singing and strumming the guitar. I did not stop to listen, even though the music he was playing was unusually melancholic. Instead I reached for some coins and dropped them in his guitar case in one fluid motion. He said, "thank you young man" but I was already walking away from him.

Sometimes I wonder why I donate money to these people but not the old blind lady selling packs of tissue paper or the handicapped person out on a limb. Today on the way home I saw an old lady leaning desolately against the wall of the tunnel, her food items unsold in front of her. She wasn't even trying to sell, just leaning back and staring at nothing. I didn't give her any money.

Why? I don't really know. The rational side of me would say that giving her money may harm her more than it would help her. The shy side of me would say that ignorance is the best excuse. The harsh side of me would say that it's pointless to give her money - she didn't provide any service that I consumed. Is there a better answer I can give? I don't really know.

Out of the tunnel and on the void deck would be a cat that is always curled up on the ground. It's old and going to die soon. I always return home sadder than when I set off.