I think there was a hint of compassion in her eyes as she crossed the street in avoidance of the bundle of fleshy rags with the blanket and tin cup.
Years of conditioning and fear of disease almost gave way to the toss of a coin or a timid approach, but at the last second, her courage slipped, and crossing the street seemed easier somehow, less wrought with anxiety and the fear of improbable reproach.
Across the street, a hawker grinned, slightly hopeful at the advance of the distracted woman, the lanes of traffic putting a world between her and the beggar. Making eye contact, her hand fumbled for her purse, testing its security, but the surge of the pedestrians tilted her intentions, and she was swept off toward Woolworths, before fetching her children from school.