As I'm tossing the last tray, I hear footsteps behind me. Turn around and there he is-one of the regulars from the encampment by the parking lot.

He stares at the food, then at me. "You throwing that away?" he asks, voice low. I nod. "Can't give it to you. Store policy."

Before I can explain, he lunges. Hits me square in the chest, knocking the tray out of my hands. "You'd rather let it rot than feed us?" he yells.

I stumble back, clutching my ribs, as he grabs a sandwich from the dumpster and storms off.

The rest of the food sits there, wasted. I finish locking up, lean against the wall, and whisper, "Yes, friend. This is fine."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630783&forum_id=2#48314502)