You are in the passenger seat of your SUV, on the way to Costco where you know you'll spend hundreds of dollars on things like cheese sticks, chicken breasts, and corn chips.
You see her on the side of the road, holding a sign that says she has two young daughters. There is something scrawled about an ex-husband, but you can't make it out. She is pregnant. Her hair has been bleached white and she wipes at tears that course down her cheeks.
The light turns green and your husband accelerates.
Just another down and out person on Aurora. Another suffering face that your brain makes room for but that your life does not.
You think about her all day. You leave the house by yourself later and consider trying to find her. You want to give her a twenty. You won't miss it.
But then you remember the last time you did that, and the disappointment that spread through you like black grape juice sullying a white dishcloth, the stain growing and growing until it was the size of a smashed grapefruit.
Why do you get to have so much?