The box

Yesterday, as I walked to the metro on my way home, I noticed a homeless beggar woman taking up space.

Next to her lay a box for people to donate money and cheap attempts at humanity.

On this box a sign was attached. The sign was a piece of paper with rain smeared orange marker scribbles.

''Happy" was the first word written on the sign. The remaining words were illegible because the sign had clearly weathered a few storms . . . and because she couldn't spell.

As I came closer, the sidewalk narrowed and, because of the number of people walking towards me, I was forced to continue in a boxward direction.

Five steps away an intense desire to just kick the shit out of the box swept over me like an arson fire in southern California.

Two steps away a tall blonde wearing those knee high black leather boots DC women love caught my attention.

The box was now behind me.

I guess there's always tomorrow . . .