Moving Target

I hopped into a minibus taxi with a dozen other people also headed
toward Piazza. There were no more seats except for the last spot on the
right rear wheel well, so I sat there. In front of me, the attendant--a
kid who calls out to tell people where the minibus is headed and
collects money from passengers--was hopping in as well, getting ready to
slap the outside of the vehicle to let the driver know to go. Behind me
a guy was trying to slide open the window next to me, then was passing a
few coins over my head. I held my hand out to take the money and pass it
on to the attendant, or so I thought I would. Instead, the coins fell on
the floor of the minibus, but near the attendant. The bus was already
moving slowly along the curb when I realized that the guy had been
trying to pass a few small coins to an old man who had been begging at
the door of the minibus a moment before. We had started moving faster
and the old beggar was nowhere near us anymore, but the gesture had been
made--it would have been odd to leave the money on the floor, or return
it to the guy behind me. The attendant picked up the coins, leaned out
the side door ever so slightly, and chucked the two small coins back
toward the beggar. There was no way the beggar was near enough to get
the coins. I imagined the two coins rolling to a stop in the middle of
the street, where no doubt, someone would eventually pick them up.