"You're an artist for God's sake, how can you feel that way about the homeless?" Helene's voice ricocheted around the room. The occasion was a charity fund-raiser for the benefit of a local soup kitchen. Sarah and Helene had both read some of their poetry.
With a mouth full of hummus that suffered from a severe garlic deficiency he said, "What's being an artist got to do with it? I think they're homeless because God is punishing them for their wickedness."
"That's bullshit."
"It's in the Bible. 'Blessed are the pure of spirit for they shall bathe daily.' But I'm not completely hard-hearted. Occasionally I'll give a panhandler strong drink. Not money though--they'll just spend it on food." He drained his wine glass and began looking around for a refill.
"You are such an asshole." Helene's voice was pitched so high he was sure he heard glass shattering in the distance.
