Superbowl Sunday.

When I moved to New York, I said goodbye to the traditional house party as I knew it. There just isn't the space out here, and even though there is a Costco or two out here, loading up on normal groceries alone is a pain, forget about party size. And that, for the most part, was fine because who wants to stay indoors while you have the whole city around you? Well I forgot about Superbowl Sunday.

No one in the city was having people over (because all the apartments can only fit like 5 people anyway) and I really wasn't down to go sit at a bar ALL DAY with overpriced drinks for a game of two teams that I really couldn't care less about. So Ronnie and I got sushi in Queens and watched the game on their TV's, before swinging at some creepy snowed-over park and then coffee.

On the way home, a homeless man approached me and asked if he could tell me something. He was completely sober, and earnest, so I said yes. He told me that it's hard to be homeless, he doesn't want to ask for money because people don't want to give it, because it's theirs. They say the homeless smell, but would you give him your clothes? And he doesn't have soap to wash them afterwards. But if I would go home and read Ecclesiastes 4:10, I would understand, and the whole city would be better off if they read it, and if I saw him again, I should wave and smile at him. I agreed, and he smiled at me so warmly before he got off the train. He wasn't even that old either. He was black and bohemian too. As soon as I got home I looked up the verse:

For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up...