Chicago. Walking across the State street bridge on a sunny, windy spring evening in that crystaline Chicago light. A guy was panhandling in the middle of the bridge. Good eye contact. Friendly but not obsequious. Said he lives under a bridge.
Do you really live under a bridge?
Yea. A lot of homeless in Chicago.
I gave him some money. He shook my hand.
My name is Andrew Cobb, he said. Are you hungry? I’m buying.
No, but thanks. Good luck.