I chucked my five cents on the counter and he gave me my money’s worth.

The coffee was merely murky water, thin as hell, but all I could afford. Sauntering out the glass doors that were started to look like they were half made of wood, from the muddy fingerprints covering it’s middle, I spit in the cup of a homeless man and he blessed me with a curse.

It was a handsome Sunday, as the dusty air was darkened with impending rain, like the tophat of a gentleman. Tossing my empty paper cup onto the road, I rubbed at the inside of my elbow to get at the dirt as I thought.

“I’m an intelligent man, the world just doesn’t seem to appreciate my talents,” I said to myself, as I fished a wallet the back pocket from a nearby gent. Keeping pace, I flipped it open, took out a note, then closed it and tucked it back where it belonged.

A pretty girl passed me by, in a small red thing, the neckline almost meeting the hemline. With a low whistle, I turned right around to follow her behind.

Like the pious man my father had been, I aimed to do one good deed a day. Just yesterday, I had chosen to water a roadside plant when all I wanted was to make water. See the considerate man I am, and the ladies, they all shrieked, but still they looked with gogling eyes.

At the street corner, I saw dear Mrs Coleby, bent in half over her walking stick, in a pretty flower dress. She should have died six months ago when she got a triple heart bypass. I watched her as she folded up more each day, and I always wondered if she slept sitting up.

She was a cynical old lady, this Coleby, always suspicious of everyone, ignoring the words of the young. Still I took it upon myself to help her. As best as I could, I shouted to her : “Manhole to your right, do watch Mrs Coleby.”

With a snort, she turned her wrinkled face to me and raised her stick at me. “You’ll never get me Skites! I know there ain’t no works…” and stepped right defiantly.

I didn’t stay to witness the commotion. Pushing past the glass doors, I slid the note across the counter. “Give the good man a good cuppa will’ya.”

Sunday: good deed – check.