Beautiful and disturbing.

So many people around the world are so wonderfully generous with everything, and we should celebrate that.

However mooching off others is weird.

It is a fine thing to graciously accept generosity. And it is a fine thing to graciously offer generosity without expectations.

It gets difficult when the generous are poor if they choose to give. It can be hard to decline without being offensive.

I have lived for lengths of time basically at the generosity of others (not poor, including the dole in my wealthy country) so I shouldn't fault the guy. However, I have also tried to give back, and now I'm older I also try and pay it forward. Certainly I've given >10x back to the government (I'm taxed highly in my country - and I dislike thinking about taxation as something you ever get back).

His story is a simplification of the modern world. We are often given so much by our society and it can be difficult to give fairly back to society.

Yet for some reason his writing recalls me of You can't win by Jack Black https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69404

  We went back to the fire and discussed breakfast. "Nothing but Java," said the bum that had the coffee.

  "I'll go to the farmhouse," I volunteered, "and buy something."

  "Nix, nix," said one; "buy nothin'," said the other, "it's you kind of cats that

make it tough on us, buyin' chuck. They begin to expect money. You go up to that house," pointing to a place on a small rise, about fifteen minutes' walk, "and tell the woman you and two other kids run away from home in the city three days ago and you ain't had nothin' but a head of cabbage that fell off a farmer's wagon between youse since you left. Tell her you are on your way back home and the other two kids are down by the bridge so hungry they can't walk. On your way up there git a phony name and street number ready in case she asks you questions. She'll give you a sit-down for yourself, chances are, but bring back a 'lump' for us. You're a decent-lookin' kid; she might git worked up about your troubles and ask a lot of dam' fool questions.

  Cut her off. Tell her you're ashamed to be settin' there wasting time and the other boys starvin' under the bridge."

  Before I got to the house a couple of dogs dashed out, barking savagely. A healthy, matronly woman came out and quieted them, looking at me inquiringly. I told her myself and two boy friends, runaways from home, were hungry and I wanted some food, that I would be glad to pay her for anything she could spare, and if she would wrap it up I would hurry down to the bridge with it, where my chums were waiting.

  "Yes," she said kindly, "come in. I haven't much here, but maybe I can find enough." She gave me a seat outside near the kitchen door, where I waited and made friends with the dogs. In no time she came out with a large parcel, and refused the money I offered. I thanked her and went down to the bridge with my "lump."

  The bums had coffee boiling. We found enough tin cans to drink from and opened the parcel. It contained cold, fried chicken, cold biscuits, and half a pie.

  "You're a good connecter, kid; sure you didn't pay for this?" one of them said.