'Keep your money, I want change' by Asher Downer

The beach has a muted green tone to it today, almost as if I’m looking at it through sea-glass. The fogs perches on the sea, enraging its waves as they force themselves on top of the pebbled shore. The streets are crowded, yet silent. Groups of friends laugh hysterically, families chatter about their day at the seaside, until they see me. Hands into their pockets they go, hats down, shoulders up, no eye contact. Is that what your mother taught you to do?

The sea is welcoming to some, calling out to tourists in the summertime and the locals in the winter. It is unforgiving to others. The ones that huddle in shop doors to hide from the coastal winds, the ones that use the deck chairs as beds, the ones that continue to sit outside the pier no matter how many times they are chased away.

Ding.

Another penny in the can, I don’t bother to look how much. Copper surrounds copper. No silver.

The world hurries around me. Ignoring my pleas for change. For sterling or a revolution, I am partial to both. I light another cigarette. The air is so cold today that I can see the breath leave my lungs and dance in front of me. I huddled further into the balled up position I have formed. I can’t see anyone on the beach. They move in packs here, like a group of seagulls. They scoop up the leftover coins from the penny shoves and fly back to their corners. But you can’t escape the canopy of eyes that watch you every day. The eyes are ready. They wait for you to slip up and make a mistake. They offer you warm beds and staple meals. But we don’t trust them, they will tell on you.

Some people choose not to stay hidden. They busk in the frost or huddle dogs under their blankets and claim the food is for them. Sometimes they will bring their children out to beg. Their small talons being able to pull at your heartstrings and puppet your hands into your pockets for loose change.

No food, just money, my sign reads. Yet I am surrounded by cold chips, coffee and leftover pizza. Given by the hands that want to help but can’t see the flattened cardboard box and thin blankets. Free fish and chips won’t buy me safety.