New York

New York is a carnival. A congregation of the filthy rich, the stinking poor, the vain middle-class. The figure of suffering: a black hunched man who's lost both arms, with a makeshift sign over his neck, 'HELP. I NEED MONEY', badly scrawled in green. An Al fresco cafe, freshly puffed skins, slightly pink, having their oversized luxury burgers with prosecco, a calm island in the middle of mid-day traffic. A scruffy white-haired man on the sidewalk preaching God is the only true lawmaker. Does that absolve one of all responsibilities? A misbelief that you are above the law of the men? It's Raskolnikov's Saint Petersburg.

People like myself, taking this all in, feeling sorry for the broken men, but not compelled to actively help them except write about it.