The Revolving-door Plan

I was walking to the library when I spotted Jimmy S. shambling toward me. He was pale, unshaven; his eyes were like open graves, and his filthy, ripped clothing hung from his ravaged body. Short version, the dude looked like a hundred miles of bad road. He got right up to me and halfway into his "Hey, mister, lemme bum a quarter" pitch before recognizing me. "Oh s***," he said, looking down at the sidewalk and visibly recoiling in shame. "I can't get away from you people. You're everywhere."