The Beggar

She's sitting at her favorite corner, where she stays until the mass has ended and all the people had gone. Sitting comfortably, as if saying it's her territory. Then a woman who was dressed at her best got angry when she tried to hold her begging for alms. Acting as if she was infected with a disease which she may have caused if she was able to touch her skin. She was so angry, that hypocrite, I could say she was a saint for she never missed a mass. Or maybe she thought she was a saint, less miserable than that old woman, a head-turner to the society where she belongs. Looking back, I asked my self, if she was truly luckier, having to spend much to maintain her status, to earn bigger for the luxury of life she was used to. She worries of what she will wear the next day, how many recipes she'd prepare on her table, of how many times she'll change her sheets. While the old woman who is contented with rags wrapped around  her body, of the alms thrown to her to buy something she could eat, if luckier, she could find a sandwich in the trash, and she could sleep soundly lying on her favorite corner. She never have to worry about the society who doesn't worry about her, she was luckier for she was satisfied of what she have, of what she can afford of having...That old woman...the beggar...