The strings of Christmas

It's bustling in Melbourne, even for a Sunday afternoon. A caterpillar of families admiring Myer's Christmas windows, buskers performing- it's fun watching the world of excitement , it's so foreign to me now.
I'm suddenly snatched from my reverie by a man, younger than me, a neatly trimmed red beard. He's talking to me, fast and insistently, asking for money. 'You're hungry?', I ask in response to his request, 'Come with me and I'll buy you a meal at the Ghurka Institute, all you can eat, it's vegetarian' ..... 'No, no, no' he says, 'Accommodation, give me cash so I can sleep here in the city tonight, I don't have a job at the moment'.
'Ok', I say, 'How does this sound, I'll do this for you - I'll buy you a feed, I'll buy you a ticket to Mildura and call the labour exchange, they'll have a bed for you and you'll start work tomorrow picking fruit'.
He's aghast, irate, and tells me that 'Karma will get me', he points at Katie saying 'She'll have a rotten Christmas, you're mean and selfish, karma will get you'.
I sigh and begin to move off. He grabs my arm. I look down at his hand and he removes it.
'You cannot know how happy my wife is, how much she's been through, how often she thinks about life without me and how your call is far too late - it's far too late for your karma to 'get me'!'