He looked at me by Peter Frickel He faced me with molded mind and a stare unmoved between stutters. He gesticulated. Spoke with difficulty. Spat out the vowels of a language foreign to him. His right hand comforted a physical disorder wrapped in bandage while a mindful grimace stretched like rubber across his face. All of him sent aches into me. I felt for him. As I placed money in a hand that had never worked the fields that was delicate rather than strong I told him to spend it on food. He replied with a grin through decaying yellow teeth that challenged: ‘I am in charge’. I let him keep the money. Walking away I realized how cunningly he had drawn me, how well he colored teeth. No, I didn’t feel screwed; just proud of my counterfeit money.