It's wicked to mock the afflicted

I went to the grocery store today to pick up bread and milk. Captain was there (working on Christmas eve, mind you). He was back to sitting on the ground. It's very windy today. The winter wind does not play around in this town. It means business. It lies in wait around the corners of buildings and when you walk past it hits you like a train. Your breath rushes out of you as if you had been punched in the gut. You gasp for breath and hunch over. As soon as you reach the other side of the street, the wind withdraws and waits for another. It was unmercifully taking pot shots at Captain as he sat on the ground wrapped in a dirty blanket. One arm extended from the blanket mass to hold onto his hat which was placed upside down before him. He had not collected enough change yet to weigh it down. I asked him what happen. He shrugged his shoulders and blew it off. He said no bother and no worries. I left him at that. Walking through the grocery crowds, I felt extremely guilty. I felt some responsibility for this iteration of chairlessness. I tried to do a nice thing in my own goofy way, but it was ultimately a worthless gesture. Bread and milk buying is usually a quick and simple procedure. Today was different. I paced the aisles in confusion. I was so proud of myself yesterday. I met a friend for drinks and relished the recounting of my deed. My words are failing me today. I try to ladle sentences from my thoughts to type into the keyboard, but they slip away at the last minute. Only the larger words come to the surface. Frustration. Disappointment. Futility.