The Streets Of The Homeless

Maybe it was the thought in my head, "I wish I hadn't ordered this, I don't really like the taste". Or could it have been the openness of change. Which ever it might have been I ordered the food in hopes that it would fulfill my desire of hunger. It did fill a desire, but the desire was not for me.

I ate at Busboys and Poets last night and I have to admit my choice of meal was not satisfying. I picked through it trying to convince myself that it was good. I remember a thought of comparison when I reminisced how I loved the 'other' place that I ordered shrimp and grits from. Oops... I had done it, damaged its purpose.

I contemplated on whether I should get a to go box or not. My inner self said you know you like late night snacks, and so I did, lol. As I was walking back to my hotel room I was stopped by a homeless man whom I had witnessed getting harassed by the police while waiting on my meal. I focused on the fact that we had already met simply by my stare of the police harassing him. So prior to his voice saying "excuse me, can you spare some food" I already knew him.

He was unaware that I had watched the police question him only an hour ago. I suspect that might cause some people to judge him, but I didn't want to carry that stumble of self growth. I mean the fact that he was sitting on the streets dirty with no place to go is a judgement in itself. But here I was handing him the food that I did not want, the food that I was prepared to force myself to eat as a late night snack. As I walked away from him blessed that I was able to be of service I thought about the homeless man that sat beside him. A white man who's face was so dirty he was brown, he was distant and alone even with someone sitting beside him.

As I continued my walk home I passed another homeless man who was on his bike yelling to people "go home". Go home, why was that his choice of words, maybe because we all had a place to call home, but he did not. I passed another homeless man who was in deep conversation with a person that was walking beside him that only he could see. And I thought to myself... "if the homeless person on the street had paper and pen, would he still appear crazy if he were writing to himself instead of talking to himself"

(c) 2011 Ebony Larijani