Old Stuff 4: The Hand

Shit happens sometimes, and Brian Grant could accept that. The man at the bottom of his building’s steps, however, had no excuse. Besides an excuse, Brain assumed the man had no family, no home, no faith and most assuredly no job.
What he did have was his hand out. Everyday, rain or shine, weekday or end, even holidays the man extended his bony, gnarled, half open hand towards Brian Grant’s Allen-Edmonds. On good days he would hold back his sneer of contempt, but he had never once offered a dime to this waste of a God-given soul.
Once he made it past the doorman, the decrepit hand would be out his mind and he could continue on his work day. Brian’s office could get heated at times; working on Corporate mergers, hostile takeovers, stock option buyouts and everything else the elite of Madison Avenue could think to argue about high above the clouds. While never tempted to swan dive from his corner balcony, Brian could not last a week without once storming out of the building for an early lunch.
He blew off Pete, his doorman for 14 years whose actual name was Alex, and nearly hit a woman with the door as he flung it open himself. Grant heard what he thought was the woman complaining, and readied himself for a fight. But as he turned, his Armani briefcase got caught in-between his legs. He stumbled and hit the bottom of the eight stair entrance in a pile. While he mentally assessed the damage, Brain cursed the woman whose fault it was that this outrage this happened. When Brian opened his eyes to inspect the shoulder seam of his suit coat, he noticed a hand. Gnarled, decrepit, bony and half open, it was out to help Brian Grant to his feet.