Grey-green eyes were drawn to the concrete a few feet in front of him for no particular reason other than to not look at anyone else while he knitted himself through the other people on the sidewalk.<span style="color: #0080BF">"Mornin',"</span>one person greeted him in a long southern drawl. He tightened his mouth into somewhat of a polite smile and nodded in the man's general direction, but that didn't stop him from sidestepping and continuing on his path.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080BF">"Listen, I was wonderin', do you have a second?"</span>the stranger asked him again. Des let his arms droop, and had they not been shoved deep into his pockets, he was entirely sure that they would've fallen off. He finally broke his stride and turned around, shrugging hopelessly. "Look man, I don't have any change or anything. I don't even have anything in my bank." Perhaps it was rude to assume the man addressing him was homeless, but in Miami, that's the only time a stranger addressed you while you were walking. That, or to distract you while a van snatched you from behind. This guy didn't seem like that type, so based on profiling, it was probably safe to assume he was homeless.<br/><br/>After a second, he walked up to the long-sleeved stranger, standing side by side so he could point down in the opposite direction. "Okay, you see that street sign? If you make a right at that and keep going for four or five blocks you'll find a shelter," he informed the likely-homeless youth. "They're great people and you'll get a good meal out of it. But I<span style="font-style: italic">really</span>have to go, I'm really late." Late to his own pity party anyway. With that, he spun back around on his heel, using his height to take long strides down the sidewalk to regain any time lost.