He calls me brother, stops his bicycle, and asks me for thirty-five cents. I give him a sandwich bag of nickels and quarters and dimes I'd hoarded. He grins wide, calls me brother and tells me how his lover left him for someone with a house and a BMW. Someone without nine felonies. He doesn't tell me why that means he needs thirty-five cents, but now he can get the bus and a meal. He calls me brother and his smile drives his bicycle down the street.