Saturday morning. I can hear a cat crying somewhere, but I can’t find it. A homeless man passed out where I work yesterday. I accidentally woke him while sweeping. He looked frightened, waiting to be ejected. I pretended not to understand. “I’m not trying to chase you out, just cleaning up a little.” He went back to sleep. I didn’t notice when he left.
It’s winter and there isn’t much to be done about the problems of others. The world seems bigger and more anonymous as people duck from building to building to avoid the cold. The people who cultivate meanness stand out sharply in the rush. To these people, cruelty is a virtue. They twist themselves into tight balls of metal wire and call it being tough. They poke holes in inconvenient people and call it pragmatism.
Convenience is neither a virtue nor a right.
Convenience is just another word for uniformity.
And nothing is closer to death.