My third week here in New York City I saw a dead, homeless black man with his rotting, open soars baking in the 100 degree heat. Lying there dead on the floor while people walk past. His shirt pulled up as if he lifted it for some relief from the heat and then.... and then I don't know. I kept walking too.

I see them barely alive all over the city. In the snow, the heat, the rain. So many are just crazy, mumbling to themselves. I always wonder what happened. What separates me from where I am, to where they are. One paycheck? Poor planning?  I told Cory I think its when no one loves you but your parents. There's no family to help or you never had one to begin with.  

The worst is when they make eye contact and it catches me off guard.  Its' easier to walk over and see lumps on the floor, looking down as the beg for change. Its harder to remember they're human beings. 

And then what? And then you walk on and forget. You forget because the present in New York is so powerful that you forget the past and the poor.