"One dime, that's it?" I said digging into my pockets and glancing at Bobby with a mischievous grin. This dude was an original. Looked like he crawled out of some black and white World War II flick.
He held out a grimy black hand. I hesitated, then placed the coin in it, feeling his gritty, blistered skin, but surprised at its cool touch.
"Thanks Mister," the bum said.
"Ha, he called you Mister," Bobby chortled.
"Trying to get back home to
Then, he reached into his pockets and slowly pulled them inside out. The dimes fell, raining over the sidewalk, and flowing into the street like a silver deluge.
(originally published in the, unfortunately, now defunct phonebook.com)
Read "Last Train, a 250-word freaky flash fiction story about deja vú