About two weeks ago, on my way to work, I noticed him for the first time. A man, around thirty, looked quite ordinary at first glance — neat, though worn-out clothes, an unshaven face, an empty stare.
I didn’t pay much attention then. But when my shift at the bar was coming to an end, I stepped outside to make a phone call — and he was still standing there.
The wind had turned sharp, the cold cut right through to the bones. And he wasn’t even trying to take shelter. I couldn’t bear it and walked up to him.
“Good evening… are you okay? Do you need help? Should I call someone?” I asked — and at that moment, I caught a sharp smell that made me recoil slightly.
He looked at me a bit apologetically.
“No, thank you… I’m just here because there’s no wind. I’m not in the way, am I?”
“No, not at all… But have you been here since this morning?”
“Pretty much. Went into the store a couple of times, just to warm up a little.”
“Did you manage to eat anything?”
“I bought some bread… been nibbling on it slowly.”
“Why are you… why aren’t you at home?” I finally blurted out.
He lowered his eyes.
“There is no home.”
I swallowed hard, struggling to hold back the pity.
“Wait here.”
I went back inside, rang up some food using my staff discount. Something hot, something decent. I sat him down on the veranda — at least there was a roof over his head. He ate silently, barely looking up. When I came out again to close up for the night — he was already gone.
At that moment, I couldn’t have imagined that sometime later, I would deeply regret my kind act.
The next day, that homeless man came back. And again the day after that. And again. He would sit in the same spot, waiting. And I started to feel like it was my duty — to feed him. Every time. This went on for almost a week.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t have enough money myself to endlessly feed someone. On top of that, customers were complaining about his strong odor, and management almost fired me. But how could I tell a hopeless person that he wasn’t welcome here?
So I gathered all my courage and found a shelter for him — a homeless center where they would take him in and feed him.
Now he’s there, under a roof, with a warm bed and meals. But still, there’s a doubt inside me: did I do the right thing by taking him there and stopping my personal help?
I feel so broken, and I don’t know how to live with this.
