Ameer had been in the slowly lurching line for several hours. He hoped the food wouldn't run out before he got in. He knew tomorrow it might be unaffordable.
The walls were tagged with slogans painted in just about every known human script. Blake was standing in front of one written in Korean. The smeared characters roughly translated to:
“Zeks fight for bread with spirit!"
“Got any spare credits.” A wrinkled faced man crowned with snow-white hair asked holding out a calloused hand.
“Sorry,” muttered Ameer turning his head away.
“Please, anything you can give.” he pleaded.
“I'm sorry I barely have enough for myself.” said Ameer.
“Can I just have a little of whatever you get?” The beggar asked in a last desperate bid.
“I can see what I have, but I doubt it,” A…