This evening as I walked home from the bus stop at sunset I saw a heavy black woman - youngish - standing on the bridge over Shoal Creek, smoking a cigarette. She looked out of place - and I censored myself for thinking that. Then as I walked by her, she asked me for money. That has never happened right here in the neighborhood - just a block from the house - on foot. I felt vulnerable, invaded, and guilty. I wanted to feel generous, but I didn't. I didn't want her there (here) so close to home challenging me with her need. I gave her a dollar and I could tell she thought that wasn't nearly enough. I had more, but I didn't reach back into my bag. I was scared, rattled. I didn't want her to be there, within my inner sanctum of places wanting money. I wonder if she is a hurricaine survivor. I wonder what she's been through - how she washed up in my neighborhood asking for money. I care and I don't care. I don't want her to suffer and I don't want her on my "doorstep." I'm locking my doors tonight. I don't like myself very much right now.