I just returned from the scene of a van versus pickup truck wreck at the corner of White Avenue and Belair Road. I had walked down there to the McDonalds for an iced coffee. As I approached the building a young white whore, who might have been pretty as recently last year, was speaking with two local white trash, a fat bearded guy who is semi-homeless and his nondescript side kick. She was nodding on heroin and the skinny dude was negotiating with her. The fat man held the door for me.

I don't mind this kind of white trash. They are just self-destructing. Let them have at it—make room, make room!

A mix of white contractors and black adult daycare providers made up the sparse customers. The staff was all black, the manger an attentive, hard working man of perhaps 30. My only problem with the manger was that he was tolerating a panhandler at the counter, who he ignored studiously. The panhandler was a fit, muscular welterweight, a white man of 25, with thousands of dollars in tattoos, and much more able bodied than myself.

I dislike all panhandlers.

I hate white male panhandlers, and believe there should be a eugenic law which permits other white men to put these sacks of skin on their knees and shove a knife into the base of their skull.

He asked every body in the room for a quarter, then asked me if he could borrow a quarter. I shook my head 'no' without looking back at him.

The only people I get aggressive with out in public, as a rule, are aggressive panhandlers who escalate to threats and blocking my way.

As I paid for my order, I gave him a chance to be that aggressive, entitled panhandler, which is generally only typical of black men who beg. The handful of change I received he eyed with needful intensity. I waited for him to come up abreast of me at the counter to see if the manager would accept the change he had been able to beg for the price of whatever he wanted, or perhaps hoping that I would spare him some change.

I usually save my change for the bus or drop it in a coffee can. Today I placed the coins slowly, one by one, into the donation box for whatever charity this joint collects for.

I managed to let him now what I thought of him, without a confrontation, which pushed away some of the dark thoughts that had been encroaching on my serenity in his debased presence.

In terms of avoiding confrontation the less said with beggars the better.