Originally, I had a couple of ideas for an intro and conclusion paragraph, but in the end, I decided to let the stories speak for themselves.  That is, I decided to let Rose and Lana and Willie speak, for every individual has a story worth paying attention to and a voice that deserves to be heard.

Ergo, World…

Meet Rose.  Rose was heading home on the R train and accompanied by her two kids.  Initially, the conversation began with a question about working out.  Thirty minutes and twenty stops later, I learned that Rose currently lives with her boyfriend whom she hates but can’t break up with because he pays the rent.  She wants so desperately to get a job in order to move out and support  her family, but with two toddlers, she can’t leave them alone and certainly can’t afford a babysitter.  Now the envelope that lay in her lap, she let me see inside.  It was papers from the adoption agency concerning her third child, the one she had to give up.  Included was a letter from the family and a picture of a little girl named Angelina.

“Savannah,” Rose whispered.  “I named her Savannah.”

Meet Lana.  Lana was panting on the corner of 45th and 5th and accompanied by a burgundy-colored suitcase.  Initially, the journey began with a friendly offer to carry her luggage, which I soon discovered weighed a million cajillion pounds and, of course, had no wheels.  Awesome.  Thirty minutes and ten avenues later, I learned that Lana is originally from Russia but moved to Chicago when her son was eight.  He’s now 22-years old and has already overstayed his visa.  There is an option to return to Russia, but American culture, American friends, and the English language is all he’s ever known.  Currently, it looks as if he’ll be leaving for Canada soon and won’t be permitted back for ten years.

“It’s absolutely unbearable to think about,” Lana panted, this time not out of physical but emotional exertion.  “My heart bleeds over this.  It’s bleeding, and I just can’t make it stop.”

Meet Willie.  Willie was sitting at the table next to us in the Yoshinoya on 42nd and accompanied by a meal he had to scrounge for.  Initially, the interaction began with a moment of sheer panic when Willie accidentally ate a mouthful of sour pickled ginger.  Thirty minutes and only three bites later (as he had forgotten to eat because he was talking too much), I learned that he had just gotten out of jail.  Previous to that, he was a well-respected business man; however, when his teenage daughter was raped, he made a mistake, he admits, is not proud of.  He served his time dutifully but is now struggling to get back on his feet.

“People just assume, you know?”  Willie remarked despondently as the excitement from the tales of his West Coast travels wore off.  “They find out that I take my showers at the shelter and eat meals from the restaurant’s leftovers, and they write me off as a lazy bum.”

Pssssst.  Listen up, World.

Literally.