encounter

He had thin, wavy hair, limp with grease, and eyes creased at the corner. His skin was tanned, aged by the Texas summer, but camouflaged by a scruffy beard. His station in life was clear, and mine probably was, as well.

He approached me, and I ducked my head. I don't make eye contact with strangers if I can help it. He said, "Excuse me, Ma'am..." and my eyes glanced up again, involuntarily.

"I know that I look scary," he acknowledged, "but I'm really harmless. Do you think you could spare some change?"

"I'm really sorry," I replied. "I don't have any change at all today."

It's easier to lie when you're telling the truth.

I turned around and walked away, glancing briefly over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't being followed.