I left the dime in the rental car. I went through the arm rest and wadded up the napkins. I grabbed the empty coffee cups. I took the half empty bottle of Purell and even checked to see if anything was left in the trunk. I threw it all away. But I left the dime in the cupholder. I had considered grabbing it. Stopped to think about taking it with me. Ten cents? Nah, I told myself. I’m not a rich man, but I can afford to leave a dime. It’s too much trouble. I don’t want it rattling around in my pocket with keys. What am I going to do with a dime anyway? So I left it behind. I couldn’t throw it away. And I’m feeling awfully guilty now about even thinking that way.
Finding humanity in a South Florida homeless shelter
I could have been at a Labor Day party, chowing down on tacos and making underwater movies with my daughter. God bless waterproof cameras. Instead I’m spending the weekend at a homeless shelter in Hollywood, Florida, drinking sugar with a splash of coffee. Toilet paper is sticking to my shoe, and I’m wondering if the tickle in my throat is MRSA.
Robin King: Remembering a teacher whose lessons continue on
It took an awful long time to write this column. Maybe too long. I don’t know why, but it’s been hard. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe I hadn’t come to terms with it, or wasn’t ready to admit he was really gone. Whatever the reason, I’ve been delaying it since December.