Almost to Bed

It's a bit after midnight- 12:20. I had some weird experience. Went to a store to buy some food and beer, about 9pm or so. Once I got my sandwich and Modelo's, I was walking back to the hostel and some guy comes up to me saying "I'm not gonna ask you for money, but can you help me buy something to eat". I didn't really mind, I mean at least he wasn't asking for feria. So we walked to a nearby BK and it was closed. I said "sorry, I tried" but he insisted and we went to a Mc'd's. I bought him something cheap, and he thanked me. Walking some other guy (I assume also homeless) walks towards me and also asks for help. Man, I was starving and I just wanted to get back to eat and drink. I had walked about 4-5 miles earlier that day. I said something like "I'm sorry, but I can't" and walked across the street. And this guy, out of nowhere, starts cussing at me. I have to admit, it's a scared-nervous feeling I had, but I ignored him even after he was across the street cursing for a bit. I can't make everyone happy.


I'm reading Hunger of Memory: The Education of Richard Rodriguez. How do I express my disappointment in his experience. Not necessarily his views because I can't expect them to be the same, but the way he recollects his memories. It seems dry, analytical. But i'm just starting out, and still have much to go.

quick poem:
If you speak to me in Spanish, why
do I care for you more. Why do
your words mean more. Because of the possibilities,
because of shared experiences affirming
there is something bonding us. Am I
foolish to love your spanish, to read
those text yet translated. do I
lover your language whether it is scholarly,
or colloquial. Does it matter if you
are from Nicaragua, always speaking with
an accent. Does it matter that traditions
don't have to die.