Homeless

Down the stairs I run into my pregnant neighbor. She and her husband moved into the other side of the building about two years ago and I'm sad to say I don't know their names. I walk towards the train station, and am happy to see that it's sunny out despite the forecast.

Jeremy S. is on the corner of 186th and Bennett, talking to someone I recognize but don't know. Turning onto Overlook, I see another person I recognize but don't actually know. She is a short, middle aged Russian woman who works in my building. Formerly, she took care of an elderly man who lived there, but he passed away a few years ago, and I wonder who she takes care of now.

The homeless guy who lives at the station is there today as usual. He has been there for a few years now, always panhandling when he is not sleeping. If a Jewish person walks by, he will ask for tzedaka, the Hebrew word for charity. Occasionally, he will disappear for a couple of days or even a week or two, but most of the time he is there on the way to work and on the way back as well.

He looks different today in that there is a girl on his lap. She is short and looks thin, and like him she is dirty and weathered. His arms are wrapped around her waist, their faces are close together, and they are singing, perhaps appropriately, "Lean on me."