The F Train wasn’t running this weekend so we caught the Q at Beverley and just stopped at DeKalb, our last stop before going under the river. Wearing shorts and a dirty white sweatshirt, stinking to high heaven and speaking loudly, like he was giving orders and clearly didn’t even know how to go about soliciting our sympathy. “Please help me out. I’m trying to put some shoes on my feet.”
Looking down I saw that his feet were swollen and I tried to picture him walking the City streets in bare feet. People on the train did their best to ignore him but a couple of teenage boys were laughing as he moved on to the the next car. A few minutes later he came back through our car singing, “I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back.” Would a dollar have helped this guy out? What would Christ have done? We got off at 42nd Street and coming out of the next car was that same guy with his shoes in his hand.
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That was me — you didn’t recognize me? I had a mask on