A value in spending time with junkies
A couple weeks ago, in a hurry to meet someone, I passed by one of the few addicts I've seen regularly in the northwest corner of Washington Square Park, in fact, enough to have had a few conversations with him. He was passed out on Sixth Avenue, looking close to death. I had seen him the evening before a couple blocks north, on the steps of the library, appearing to ask for help. I was across the street and started to go toward him to say hi, but he was rambling incoherently and didn't recognize me, as best I could tell. The first time I met him, last spring, I had been picking up litter and he thanked me. I may have posted about it…
