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"Carl Sandburg said I could ask you for money."

This is what made me stop.

"Excuse me?"

"Carl Sandburg. Big shoulders. You know."

"Yes..."

"I always worried about asking people for money. On the streets, you know. But I've been reading a lot of Sandburg lately. I've got a lot of time now. And he says that in Chicago, it's okay to ask for money on the street."

"Oh."

"I was built in with this inherent guilt about asking for money, you know? I was raised in Winnetka."

"...Really?"

"Oh yeah. Went to U of I. Art major. Four years. Get my ability, get my education, make my living on my own, you know? Don't depend on anyone."

"So... what happened?"

"Ah... I got behind in rent. I was temping. Went exactly two weeks too long not working, you know?"

"Yeah..."

"And I lost my apartment."

"Why... why didn't you borrow money from your parents?"

"My parents aren't exactly... speaking to me right now. You know?"

"Yeah."

"And I thought, you know, that's cool. I'll ask around, ask my friends, I can scrape up four hundred bucks somehow. Sold my stuff. Asked my friends. Shit, my friends are as poor as I am."

"Yeah..."

"So... I lost my apartment. And I sold everything. So. Here I am."

"On the street."

"On the street."

"Why didn't you..." I paused, then thought of my blanket answer to every question. "Ah-hah, why don't you go to a shelter?" I asked, already starting to walk away.

"I went. I got stabbed."

This stopped me for the second time. "Excuse me?"

The boy lifted his shirt, showed a ragged scar on his abdomen.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I'm white. I'm educated. I looked like an easy target. What can I say?"

"Jesus..."

"It happens, you know? That always used to be my excuse, too. Go to a shelter, go a shelter. I never realized what went on there, though. Have you actually been to a shelter?"

"Um... no."

"Horrible. Nightmare. Anyway, I knew if I went back, I'd get killed. So I was trying to decide what to do."

"Mm-hmm..."

"And I started reading Sandburg. Did you know during the Great Depression, there were 100,000 homeless people living on Lower Wacker Drive?"

"No."

"Oh yeah. Shut down traffic for about twelve years. So I read my history, I read my Sandburg, and I decided, it's not so bad in Chicago, asking for change."

"Yeah."

"People understand what you're talking about here, you know? They understand that everyone's about one, maybe two steps away from being where I am right now."

"Yeah."

"So whaddya say? You got some change for me?"

And I gave him my paycheck -- $791.93. And I headed home.

And I called my parents. And I told them how much I love them, how much I sincerely love them.

And I called my friends. And I told them how much I love them, how much I sincerely love them.

And I laid down in my bed, my twin-mattress, Pier-One framed bed. And I cried.

And I cried, and I cried, and I cried.