Right Outside

I live right outside NYC. Often times, people refer to where I live as the sixth borough. I'm lucky enough to be in the city at least once a week; after years of working in Manhattan I can now say I very much enjoy and look forward to my jaunts in and out of the City That Never Sleeps.

The other night, I was walking to Grand Central and I saw what appeared to be two people sitting on the sidewalk. One person had a sign that said: Broke and Hungry. God Bless. As I neared the couple, I came to realize that the other being was in fact a dog, dressed in a winter coat. His owner had on a sweatshirt. I locked eyes with the dog for a brief moment and my heart broke for him and his friend. I wished so badly that I had a treatie with me, something to give this silent canine soul. I wanted to give to both of them, but for some reason I locked eyes with the dog, and from there on, he haunted me for the rest of the night.

I was driving home from work this morning and I passed a side road with Mercedes SUV's all stacked up in a row; mothers waiting for their children to get off the bus, I guessed, clad in Not Your Daughter's Jeans, Starbucks (barf) coffees in tow, and a cell phone attached to their ear. It's a common sight where I live, right outside the city.

Don't get me wrong: I don't begrudge the rich. Especially those who work hard for their money. I just felt the same way that I supposed the dog and the kid must have felt... the world at their feet, cold concrete underneath them.

Right outside.