i see this sight pretty regularly and it gives me this little, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach every time: a man sitting in an old kitchen chair, looking out of a deserted store-front window, with ladders and scraps of lumber behind him. he has a mop of white hair and vivid blue eyes which are distressed, sad, and lonely. often he’s clutching his own arms or shoulders beneath his soul-ripping stare.
james and i pass him on our way to the park. i’m always acutely aware of the incongruity of our happiness, our action, our togetherness.