There was a wind that afternoon; it came straight off the lake and brought the chill factor down to zero. When Deidrich turned onto Jackson and saw the beggar his first thought was of his own good fortune–to be employed, married to a wise woman, warmly housed, and the owner of several damned good winter coats.
The story was so transparent it angered Deidrich. “You don’t carry a wallet?” he cried, a mistake. The only way to deal with these beggars was to brush right by them. A single word, even eye contact, and you were lost.
Deidrich checked the pockets of his overcoat before he took it off. They were empty except for a wad of Kleenex, several wrapped cough drops, and a pair of ticket stubs left over from last year’s season at Orchestra Hall.
“Well, fuck you, again,” the beggar said, backing off. “It’s people like you that make me hate the whole human race.”
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He took one of the side seats by the door, facing a large sleepy man who took up a second seat with his packages. I gave a man my coat, he thought. My coat!
At Jefferson Park he exited the train. Wind swept down the platform, icy and penetrating. He hadn’t thought about how cold this platform could be when he gave his coat away. Now he would just have to grit his teeth and walk as fast as he could. There would be four blocks to go once he reached the street. Maybe he would run.
“Yes, your coat. Didn’t you wear a coat?”
