Richard McNameron, a Parisian man, was on his way back to his one room apartment after suffering through yet another taxing day in the fields. While back tracking through the shopping district, stepping over wet and dirty newspapers littered all over the streets, he noticed a thin woman in his path. She was standing in the center of the sidewalk, facing away from him. The woman was clothed in smoke colored wool and her head was covered by a rich brown head dress. From behind her he could see her holding something and noticed that her attention was focused on the object. As he approached, he heard the clinking of coins against coins and tin. He stepped up to her and tapped her shoulder; she was a beggar. He could tell. In this city, where the poor were thrown to the dogs, her kind was not uncommon – he’d seen it time and time again, whole families, put out on the streets with nothing more than a thin tin cup. She turned to see his face and as she did so, he saw her worn, tired features. Her skin was dry and peeling and her eyes burned red. He just smiled at her and reached into his jacket. Into her tin cup, he dropped the coins he earned that day. A paltry 40 cents, but it was something. She could afford at least two weeks of bread with it. She began to babble and spit, but the man just nodded at her and raised his hand, stopping the woman’s noise. He returned home with empty pockets, but a burning heart.