Please sir, can you Help me?

The day was a cool November one, and the trees had shed their beauty for practical resilience. Wind blew, rustling the half-decomposed leaves on the ground, rolling into the fenced-in construction area where this story takes place; and where Bob resided, shivering.
Bob was an older gentleman, or at least he used to be a ‘gentleman’ many years ago. Now, Bob was without a family or place to call home. Recently he had been using the construction area as protection from the wind and decreasing temperatures. In his old life, Bob was a banker, and a damn good one. He’d do your tax returns, investments, savings and chequing accounts, and overall financial advice better than any other around. Perhaps that was because he wasn’t following all of the rules.
Some, such as his well-off family, thought him a moral man.
The judge and jury did not.
Fraud was the charge, and it stuck.
7 years Bob served behind bars; in all that time his children did not visit him, and his wife only went once, to say goodbye. Bob’s wife and daughters changed their last name and moved to a place he did not know.
When Bob was released from prison, he was a changed man, his wrinkles and sorrow stung evermore each day. With the criminal record of distrust clinging to his back, there was no job that Bob could find.
So, there he lay, at five in the morning, within a construction site fast asleep by a lumber pile under a two-by-four acting as a blanket, a terrible actor.

This is when Mitchel arrived. It was the weekend and his day off, but he needed to collect his paycheck. He climbed the gravel and miscellaneous mounds that grew hard with early November snow, and he sighed deeply, letting out a cloud of visible exertion. Mitchel worked two jobs. By day he was a construction worker, recently on this large project, and by night, a high school janitor. He did this to funnel enough money into the retirement home that housed his mother.
Then, Mitchel passed the lumber pile and two oddly protruding legs caught his eye.
“Hey!” Mitchel’s warm coffee breath turned to mist as he spoke.
Bob shifted under the two-by-four.
“What are you doing here?” Mitchel asked.
Bob shot awake now and stumbled to his feet, one of which wore only a sock, and no shoe.
“Sorry, sir,” Bob’s mouth moved in reaction; he’d learned that his presence was something to apologize for.
“It’s okay, geez.” Mitchel shook his head, then rubbed his temples and up to his eye sockets. Bob wasted no time.
“Oh, how generous! Please sir, do you have anything you can spare? I’m deathly cold and need help,” Bob pleaded, crumpling to his knees.
The old Bob would never have begged or asked for help; in fact, many had begged for his financial aid in the past. But in recent years, he had learned what it was to need, not just want. To survive, instead of enjoying the luxuries of life.
Mitchel realized that he’d been far too kind to the homeless man. “I wish I could help you…” Sympathy was not in Mitchel’s vocabulary yet, “but I just can’t.” This was a lie, of course, then he walked away deeper into the construction zone. He hurried away from the homeless man, in a degree of disgust, and he reached his destination. An office, usually used by construction workers on their break, and where the paychecks were held.
Bob, with quite literally nothing else to do with his time, decided to stalk the construction worker from out of view. He was the only person in the last month to take notice of his existence, and that was something.