Caritas, of One Sort.

Trap-style (fat-lover and pepper-eater) walked with a talcum lilt in his baggy, saggy drawers to a rust bucket dumpster. A worn, thin man sat cross-legged on the soggy asphalt – soggy asphalt, soft and loamy, holding urine and rain water with equal affection. The rust bucket dumpster made a backrest for the worn, thin man, who blew imaginary smoke rings through licorice lips.

“Where's my coffee, Trap-style?” The worn, thin man croaked as a cloud of dust and sharecropper nightmares poured through the licorice lips.

“'Ain't got yer coffee.”

“Piss-bucket. You always screwin' me over.”

“Piss-bucket yerself. 'Ain't got no money.” Trap-style kicked a little piece of asphalt that had broken free from the road, and it felt like sponge.

The worn, thin man scratched at his eyes. Blood should have flowed freely at the wish of his fingernails. Only crusty-dust ash mites fell like stars.

“I used to have a coffee machine,” said the worn, thin man, “and I used to make coffee in it every day. There were some days that I used to buy a tube of crescent rolls and I'd get the ones with frosting. Pop those damn things in the toaster oven and bake 'em up. They come out nice and hot. I let 'em cool a bit and put the frosting on 'em. Damn, they's good. I'd stick a damn thing in my mouth and eat it. Shit, maybe eat two. I'd drink up that coffee and it was sweeter than the sweat off a witch's nipple. I'd drink it up nice and hot from my coffee machine and I'd never hafta' go and wait for a piss-bucket Trap-style to get me no coffee from a mom and pop. Shit.”

“Piss-bucket yerself,” said Trap-style, kicking at the asphalt. “Witch's nipple.”

The worn, thin fingers clawed and scratched at the ropey, dopey eyes, scratching for blood, scratching for life, clawing for hope and a cup of coffee. No blood. No hope. No coffee.

“I had that coffee machine, and if I had it now, I'd make me a cup and then you know what?”

“What?”

“I'd make another cup.”

“Ass.”

“No. You know what?”

“What?”

“I'd give it to you.”

And so the soggy asphalt (soft and loamy) held the urine and rain water with equal affection. The dumpster made a backrest and Trap-style kicked a sponge.