When I was 16, I worked at a law firm downtown as a summer intern. Every day, I’d go get lunch from this row of vendors – either a gyro, a hot dog, a kebab, or a burrito. Each one only took cash, so I got used to carrying around a bunch of cash, and every day, I’d pay for my meal, take all the change I got and anything in my pockets, and give it to a local homeless guy named Ivan.
I’d also just say “Hi, Ivan” or “Nice seeing you, man” or something along those lines.
Ivan was a mid-20s black guy who had fought in Iraq, but had some severe PTSD and had run away from whatever family and friends he had and moved a few hundred miles to upstate New York. He was generally nice, but quiet, and obviously in a very bad place in…
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