I stand in the kitchen, cutting my organic apple into neat and tidy quarters. An old homeless man walks by the window, no more than 10 feet from where I stand. His beard is grey and dirty, clothes mismatched and worn, but his head is held high and he looks quite alert as he walks along the sunny sidewalk.
I put the knife back in the block and head upstairs to eat my snack in front of several thousand dollars worth of computer gear. It’s a strange world.