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Coming out of a company meeting, more layoffs announced.
Not me (this time).
Heading home in the evening rush hour.
I'm halfway down the steps to Kendall MIT station.
There is a man with a young boy, perhaps 6 ot 7 years old.
The man is holding a sign, which I manage to read as I race down the stairs to catch a train that's already arriving.
"Homeless man and son. Please help"
I continue racing to the gate, but before I cross the turnstile, I read the destination:
Braintree. Not my train. I can wait.
I stop, check my wallet, and see a five dollar bill and a couple of ones.
I walk back up the steps, toward the man and his son.
Both are dressed, barely warm enough for the weather.
Dark complexions but Caucasian. Mediterranean? Possibly.
Hard to tell; there is a yellow-gray tinge to their gaunt faces.
They both look at me apprehensively; they don't know what to make of me.
I can see they are not used to the attention, or their position on fortune's wheel.
I grab the five and drop it on the man's coin bucket; an orange plastic Gatorade container.
The boy looks surprised. The man looks embarrassed.
With downcast eyes the man mumbles thank you.
I go back to into the station to wait for the next train.
I have a lump in my throat, and by the time my train arrives, my eyes are watering.
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