@MLEdwards
Thank you for the song recommendation it's AWESOME!!
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The streets of Manhattan were always the same, night and day. Too busy, too bright and perfectly walkable. There was a standard grid to make wandering about an easy task. You know one street , you know them all. I rarely took the subway. I preferred the freedom of burning calories and avoiding uncomfortable claustrophobic situations.
It was past the first week in March but right now I was desperate for a stroll in Central Park , although this wasn't the best time. I would have to wait until at least late April to feel the right amount of spring ecstasy.
I sighed.
I could use this kind of cleansing but right now, marching across the sidewalk of Tenth Avenue, feeling cold inside and out, the walk to the shelter seemed too short to pass the long afternoon ahead.
For a moment I considered heading to the library but then I remembered the job ad Lisa mentioned and I immediately skidded to a halt and turned on my heels. Why wait for tomorrow when I desperately needed the distraction right now? And obviously, the sooner I find a job the better.
I couldn't pin my hopes on this job though. It could have been taken already, but I welcomed the long walk at this time of the day. At least I wouldn't have to spend the next hours in the suffocating dorm room in the shelter, or trying to avoid socializing with the other residents in the TV lounge. I still couldn't learn how to get along with everyone. Especially those who get on my nerves sometimes. I'd normally prefer not to talk most of the time and obviously that's why everyone seemed to insist on making conversations. I wish there were a library in the shelter. That would had made life a little bit easier. I would appreciate the peace and quiet.
All through Tenth Avenue on the way to Amsterdam, I kept a slow pace, sauntering along the file of shops and restaurants and salons, clutching the front of my knitted sweater as if that would prevent the chill in the air from penetrating my lungs.
This little hike gave me the impression that eating and drinking and doing your nails was all there was to life in this part of the globe. Well, I guess that's the crux of it for some people. For most people it was about survival. But some People actually wanted to be somebody. Not just to live.
Being was different from living in my opinion and people of New York were admirable this way. They worked hard and built and achieved and left a mark and therefore they could be . It was not about how long you lived in here. Although that should be considered more often. It wasn't really a healthy lifestyle.
Watching those huge buildings along the way brought this weird theory that used to play in my head: that is the taller the buildings were in a particular place, the shorter the lives of its people. Building things is amazing but it really sucks the life out of the living things, replacing trees, blocking sunlight, burning oxygen, breathing out toxins. People could really use some more open spaces in here. And that's why central park was my escape whenever I could.
I didn't mind wandering the streets and spewing philosophical theories all day. Actually, I would've liked it in different circumstances but my sour mood kept forcing these dingy musings from the darkest places of my mind. The heavy traffic and the car fumes in the air didn't make anything better.
Right then, as if on cue, I glimpsed this sight that pained my soul every single time.
All of a sudden, I was too aware of the weight of the paper bag in my hand that I didn't even need. I was aware I'd never starved in my life unless I was on a diet. I was aware that my personal issues right now seemed temporarily unimportant.
The old man in a dusty oversized coat, gray and stooping, bending over a garbage can, scavenging for something to eat, here , in one of the wealthiest districts in the world. It just squeezed my heart like a vice. I felt so helplessly insignificant. This just shouldn't happen. Not here. Not anywhere. I wasn't so far from this fate myself, but for a second I felt grateful that at least I was still nineteen. I could still find a job and a bed at night. And possibly, I might go to college someday and then I might be somebody.
Without much thinking , I found my legs leading me forward towards the homeless old man who was leaning against the wall of one of the hundreds of restaurants in the area, still digging in the trash.
He definitely needed this lunch more than I did.
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Salaam everyone.
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