The Vagrant

The two frat boys approached the vagrant, White Cranberry juice from the corner store in the taller of the two’s hands (sluts like sweet stuff with their vodka).  Poverty was alien to the sophomore business majors at the premier institution, as randomness had granted them wealthy backgrounds and white skin.

Yet, the universe's indiscriminate randomness seemed to have discriminated against the man they passed, who appeared to have been folded horizontally by the downward pressure of gravity, as evidenced by his severe leftward lean.

Lacking street sense, the frat boys tragically forged eye contact with the folded hobo, who then solicited them for spare change.  Randomness had forced two of its prodigal sons to interact with one of its shameful afterthoughts, and for but a brief moment, the homeless man was granted access to the better world he had not usually been allowed participation in. 

But the itinerant beggar was out of line, and the fortunate sons, who had accidentally allowed the man into their sphere, refused the proposition, sending him back to the realm in which he belonged.  After all, the man had no right to take advantage of the college students.  Contrary to what most, including the vagrant would have believed, the dollar bills the frat boys possessed in their wallets did not grow on trees.  They came from manipulative emails sent home to parents.

Returning to the party, the two frat boys, already reasonably buzzed, began experiencing the faintest semblances of guilt as the result of the charity they refused to provide for the homeless man.  Attempting to silence his self-reproach, the shorter of the frat boys, already three parties deep into Spring Break, reassured his counterpart that, “He probably would have just spent the money on alcohol anyway.”