as my card appeared on my phone, the street newspaper vendor held the wireless payment device high above him to get the best signal,

like a shaman performing a well-practiced ritual to appease the digital gods, that they may grant a swift transfer of power from my bank account into his,

and that they would allow me a temporary break from my slight guilt about the difference of social economic positions between us, and somehow help this person who’s name and story i don’t actually know