Lunch

I just walked by the St. Francis Hotel on the way to grab some lunch. Near the corner of Powell and Post, twenty feet from Victoria's Secret, there were these three little kids playing Christmas songs on their violins. All of them were white and from well-to-do homes, as evidenced by their clothes and grooming (the girls even had little bows in their hair), and each had their instrument cases open - so the onlookers could tip them. In fact, they caused quite a scene, with shoppers stopping to hear them play, clearly seduced by their "cuteness", and offering money that would have been better suited for the homeless in the area, only "they are too repugnant" to ever get the tourists to take notice of their situation. Two of the kids - a boy and a girl, perhaps siblings, maybe just friends - were basking in their notoriety, and played up their newfound attention with bright smiles. They loved the attention, not to mention the money they were earning. However, the third kid, this adorable little girl probably no older their eight-years-old, had the most frightened expression on her face. Her eyes were brown, and full of fear, and even though it was so obvious, her mother - who was taking photographs of the group - encouraged her to keep playing, and then chastised her when she wouldn't smile. This caused the little girl to go even deeper into her shell. I mean, she looked so scared. When I passed by she glanced at me, seconds away from crying, and it's weird how moved I was. I mean, it's been so long since I felt this overwhelming sense of love for a complete stranger, not in the perverted sense, of course, just in how sad I felt for her. After grabbing a salad, I decided to take the same route, because I wanted to see if my initial take was accurate, and of course when I passed there was an even bigger crowd there, and again this little girl looked in my eyes, like, please, get all these people to stop staring at me so I can go home, I don't want to do this anymore.

It's weird how sometimes you see a person in the street, or at a public place like the BART station, and you feel drawn to them for some mysterious reason. Ultimately, it's hard to feel truly bad for someone who comes from a wealthy home, and who never has to worry about being warm or having enough to eat, and who knows what was really going on in her head, but there was something in her expression that made me feel so bad, another lonely soul who hates the spotlight and wants no part of all this holiday cheer.

At least that's what I told myself as I walked back to work.