Last night, I interviewed for a third job to work in the evenings after my school job. As I walked home, I crossed paths with a homeless man who casually cleaned his fingernails and tossed the clippings on the ground. He leaned against his shopping cart, a cart so large and densely packed it nearly barricaded the sidewalk. His biceps have to be huge from pushing that mammoth, strapped mound of junk around the neighborhood.
I surveyed his treasures as I walked by when suddenly the sweetest pair of retro Reeboks caught my eye. I did a double take. Where did he finagle those? A pair in mint condition that begged to be worn with a chic outfit from my closet.
He glanced up. I shifted my gaze downward. I almost muttered something like “nice shoes”, but didn’t want any exchange of communication to be mistaken as a request to be stuffed and buried in his cart (possibly with some other Upper West Side residents).
I shook my head and walked on. Three jobs and I can’t afford those shoes. No job and he can cram more possessions in that cart than we can shove in our tiny apartment. Something is wrong with the world when a homeless man on the corner sports cooler tennis shoes and more property than me.
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I'm a young professional with relatively new jobs, a not-so-new newlywed, and a transplant to New York City. If you've ever been married, moved to New York City, or can faintly recall either - then maybe this blog will resurface a few nostalgic memories.
See my Masthead Archive.
3 comments:
you have an apt. a job. a roof over your head. this is the Easter season. be happy, not jealous. things are just things.
ha!! funny. oh to be a homeless person in nyc, can you imagine all the crap they find. maybe they'll come across anonymous in a dark alley and steal his easter basket, i don't want to hear ya cryin' then anon.
yes, you have an apartment, three jobs, a roof over your head. and a sense of humor... go back, grab the damn shoes.
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