A couple of weeks ago, a man who lives on the streets made eye contact with me as I strolled by him on my way to a clothing store. “Can you spare a couple bucks?” he asked. His voice shook as he spoke through sun burned lips. The man’s thin pants and top were covered with stains and he looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. A heavy stench of urine hung in the air around him. His uncombed hair had no luster. His eyes were dull with the struggle of survival. Urine is one of my

My stomach ached with hunger. Mother left my eleven-year-old sister Robin and me home alone for several days without food. The cupboards were bare. The refrigerator had a half empty jug of Gallo and some dried out celery in a produce drawer but that was all. Panhandling wasn’t something I ever imagined for myself. I was nine-years-old, almost fearless, and absolutely lacking in begging skills. I stationed myself outside the neighborhood grocery store, and waited beside the au