Transcendent Spare Change

I stepped out of the New Forest Market into the fading light, groceries in hand, headphones on. A man sat on a yellow bench against the café wall. I smiled. His lips moved. He was asking for spare change. I paused my music and leaned in. What followed was brief but electric. I gave him coins, then truth—about bills that cage the sky, about mercy fire and resistance. He asked my name. I gave it. He said his twice—Richard Price. He listened, nodded, asked why. I turned to go, then turned again. He was gone. No coat. No trace. Just the echo of his name and the truth we shared. This song is my witness to that moment—where mystery met mercy, and spare change became a dispatch of dignity.