Stale bread

As I was walking to work this morning feeling utterly sorry for myself due to a sore throat, I looked up to see a sight which broke my heart.
A sight I would have missed if I hadn't looked up from my begrudging stomp -  mumbling to myself about having to leave my cosy bed.
An old man, quite possibly not all that old, but worn weary from a hard life, was scratching at a piece of stale bread he'd found discarded on the footpath. The way he was scratching at it with the vigour  of determination could not have been interpreted in any other way - this man was starving.
Obviously he was trying to scrape off any filth, mould or rotten food on the stale bread and salvage whatever edible part he could, shovelling the crumbs into his mouth with lightening speed.
I hesitated, but did not stop. Looked at him, but did not gawk. The pity in my eyes would have embarrassed this man. Every person deserves to reserve some dignity.
What would it have taken me to offer this man a hot breakfast? McDonalds was just around the corner and a McMuffin meal surely wouldn't break the bank. But, 'I was due at work', I rationalised to myself. "He'd be embarassed', I thought.
I walked on.
100 meters away, I saw a gaggle of pigeons, scratching at some breadcrumbs. Just like that old man.
Surely, a man is worth than a pigeon.
I was consumed with guilt, but continued on my way.