Empty Pockets, Homeless in Harlem
As I wait for the transit, I hear the sound of a muscian strumming his 3-stringed guitar. I see a man wearing a scarf to survive the 0 below weather and somehow his numb fingers are able to flip through those India thin pages of the Holy Bible. I see a man turning the pages of a newspaper as he catches the snot from his running nose. I didn't ask if they were homeless. They could be. They might not be. Maybe they just wanted to get out, get the hell out. I try to look closely to the unexpected things in life. I speak out against poverty and homelessness and wish for a more just system that provides enough for all, an even distribution of wealth, where human beings can live as human beings and be able to allow their soul time to discover their dreams.