Steve could put five cents in the beggar’s cup. He could give five cents to the filthy layabout covered in a week’s worth of grit. As he stood at the edge of the crosswalk eyeing the homeless man, his memory fluttered back to the sunlit Sunday school of his youth. The pastor told them about the poor and needy, how they were God’s innocence made material. But innocence was not smeared across that man’s face. Steve only saw the brow of incarceration and lines of addiction. Steve could put five cents in the beggar’s cup, but the crosswalk signal changed.