There is a lady that comes to our flat every month. She claims to be a sweeper of some sort; her job is to make sure the stairs in the building are clean, and thus asks for money. Now, this is rather Iagoesque. We live on the second floor of the building and the flat is quite oddly situated; the result of which, we or any other tenants on the second floor never see her about with her job. And men's words, as known, are a fragile thing.

I have always been fairly brusque with her, perhaps because of the supposed superiority that I am naturally in possession of, being the owner of the money. My reason though, is because she knocks with the plastic stick of her broom; two rude knocks usually, followed by a bark. If the door is not opened due to sulkiness on my part (or my roommate's), there comes the knocks again, louder, unrelenting. If I am predisposed to be a kinder person and consent to open the door, she stands there with her heavy arms on her waist, her hair in a chaotic curly bun, broom across the chest, brazen and brash.

She came a couple of days ago, just minutes before I was about to leave for an exam. My respond to her then was, to say the least, foul. My mind - which has acquired that disinclination to stretch - was engaged in the looming exam and the possibility of being late (which indeed I was), and here she was, barking up the door, as if money was her birthright. I told her callously I had no money, that she should come back, and closed the door on her face - with extra force.

Last night, she popped in my head. And I thought that maybe, each time she came for money, she knew that there was a small chance of her acquiring it, and the brazenness, the broom boldness and the bark were done to increase the chance. And she wasn't a beggar, was she? She wasn't going to beg. Alternative? Force? No. That would be something closer to theft.
Defence. Remember how it felt when you forgot to do your homework, or didn't do it for any reason at all when you were small, and then asked to explain yourself? That feeling of being aware that you've done something wrong, but right there, at the moment, there was no escape. Come up with something. An excuse, anything. Fast. And stick to it; back it up with anything you can think of. Or don't say anything at all. Let the punishment come. Let it be over.
But at the moment: defence.

And this is more than just homework, unfortunately. I don't even want to speculate.

This morning I was milder, and she put her hand together to form that bowl-like shape to receive the money. I felt horrid. A bit better too, nevertheless.

My wings haven't exactly grown back though :)