It wasn't until I was right next to the car that I looked down and saw a man in his mid-30s, wearing a stocking cap and coat, curled up on the front seats, asleep. Or at least his eyes were closed.
I couldn't stop thinking about him. What would you do all day when most places are closed? I guess you're not all-the-way homeless if you have a car. It must be a pretty precious possession.
I tried to find him to bring him some food, but he was gone by the time I drove by again, about an hour and a half later.
And when my husband was at the gym, he saw our neighbor across the street. He's a small, white-haired old man. Maybe in his early 80s. We don't know him except by sight and we say hello if we are out at the same time. There are condos across the street, and people tend to come and go. He holds garage sales every weekend in the summer. I went a couple of times, until I caught on that it was all a bunch of worthless crap he seemed to have purchased at other garage sales.
R. says this guy works out at the Jewish Community Center, as we do, although for us, it's because it's in our neighborhood. R. was working out one machine over from this guy when he saw what he had never seen before: the tattoo of numbers on his forearm. I wonder how many people are left who have those? I wonder what he thinks when he looks at them?