Nutty justice

While clambering up the steps to the Tower Bridge from the quayside, I encountered a homeless and probably jobless person. Someone whose efforts in life have been bootless. (I really wanted to use that word). Anyway, as is their wont, he asked for charity. I had run out out change, so I offered him the bag of honey-roasted peanuts I had.

Mmmm.

He refused. Said he had nut allergy.

That is what I call being dealt from the bottom of the divine deck. Not only does the poor chap have no cash for a bash, he is denied potentially 50% of all food that he may otherwise obtain as charity, considering that nuts abound in this World of ours. Fate's angelic boot that got him in the rear was hobnailed for good measure.

Of course, it may be the case that I was the nut in this episode. Offering a grown man honey-roasted peanuts on a windy Saturday night, rather than a flask of the best.

No, my cardiac tissues are not all calcium carbonate. I am artless, not heartless.