The beggar sits at the foot of the staircase connecting the lower and upper floor of the market. He is an old man, with one very twisted leg. He moves around with the help of a wooden crutch.
Every morning at around nine, he hobbles to his familiar position at the foot of the stairs. I do not know where he lives. I do not even know if he has a home. Perhaps he just sleeps wherever he can find shelter.
He wears filthy clothes and it is obvious that it must have been months or more since he had a wash. He smells and looks horrible.
He must have had a very hard life for he never smiles. All he does is sit quietly on the floor with his head down and a trembling hand holding an old tin cup. Most people that pass by do not even notice his presence. Those who do are usually moved to toss a coin or two into his cup. Even I, who only have a bit of money, had put coins into his cup. What else can I do for such an unfortunate man who depends on the kindness of people for his living?
Unfortunately there are some people who actually curse him. There was a time when I saw a well-dressed lady scold him because she tripped and nearly fell onto the floor after blundering into him. It was her fault really for not seeing the beggar sitting at the foot of the stairs, but the poor old man did not argue. He just kept his head down and remained quiet.
As far as I know, the beggar is still at his usual position at the foot of the stairs. God knows how long he has to keep doing this. Perhaps one day the authorities will come and put him in an old folks' home or perhaps he will die before that.
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