I wasn't hungry, but if I don't eat, I'll waste away

There is a all-purpose van in my way. Between gyros, muffins, and hot dogs, I pick the latter.
“Do you guys have hot dogs, already?” I meant to say still. They run out at midday.
He nods and turns around. This white van is run by two tanned, baseball cap businessmen. A loud, tall man, gawking and thinning, walks next to me and yells at the men. “What do you got for 75 cents?!”
Scanning, “Coffee or tea is 75 cents, man,” I say meekly.
“Yo! Whattaya got for 75 cent?!” “A bagel or a roll,” adding few decibels.
“Thanks, man,” he says. A couple levels beneath a yell now, “I want a bagel!”
“Cream cheese?” one of the businessmen asks.
“Yeah, cream cheese.” He’s eyeing the situation wildly. The other owner of the van is arranging my hot dog.”
“That’ll be $1.25,” the vendor says to the agitated man.
“What?! This guy said it was 75 cents!” I’m in this now.
“It says 75 cents on the menu,” I argue.
“That’s plain. With cream cheese it’s $1.25.”
“Shit, man,” downtrodden. He turns to me, “can you spare some, man?”
I stopped giving a couple weeks ago. I have a budget and I scrounged for cereal last month. “I can’t give now,” I say.

He’s disappointed in me. He’s disappointed in everyone who doesn’t give. “Nah, man.”
“It’s on me, says the vendor. “What kind do you want? Raisin? Plain? Cheese?”
“Raisin, man.”
I pay for my hot dog and pick up to leave. The man looking for some change says, “I thought you were a brother for a brother for a brother.”
What can I say to this? What can anyone say to this axe-wound? “I just can’t give today.”

“Nah, man,” he says, dropping his cents in the hand of the vendor and ambling away with wild eyes still facing me. He speaks slowly, “I thought you were a Brother for a Brother… for a brother.”