I realize as I ride the train into the city how very hooked I am on the graffiti that lines the walls of the abandoned buildings in north Philadelphia; it has become increasingly brilliant, creative and energetic. I began taking photographs as often as I could, and I remembered that when I was married, my husband and I used to argue about the merits and joys of street art, graffiti He hated it. The energy must have frightened him. I loved it; the energy compelled me and now that I live on my own, I can celebrate and document it the way I have always yearned to do.
Then, during Lent I decided that I needed to give back something to my city. I'm only one person; what could I possibly do that would mean anything?
I began to 
pack one extra sandwich a day and decided that I would give it to one homeless person each day. The first day was uneventful; I just found a man who had a large suitcase and bag standing next to him on the bench where he sat in the afternoon sunlight. I explained that I hadn't been able to finish my lunch and asked if he'd like my sandwich. Yes, said he, and took it with thanks. The next time I found two men huddled in the train station and asked; both said yes, but I had only one sandwich. One day I went up to a woman who had many bags, but she said, "Oh, honey, I've just had my lunch and I'm full." Then she warned me about some of the men lying around on benches; one had lice, she warned, another was very high. I walked slowly through Love Park, of all ironies and found a man slouched with his head hung between his knees, a plastic bag tucked beneath his bench. I leaned into him and found his eyeballs somewhere in the swirl of whatever self-medication he had consumed, and I just said, "Here is a sandwich." He looked up a little, slowly wrapped his warped hands around the sandwich and tugged it in towards his chest. Yesterday I found a man who was sitting next to an empty Peeps box; following a man with a crutch over toward the Peep box man, I noticed that the seated man handed the crutches man a small packet of something that had something blue inside it - maybe one dose of something - and as the man with the crutch walked away, I came to the seated man and leaned down to ask him if he would like a sandwich. He raised his head, looked directly at me as though he were started but then his gaze softened when he realized I was doing nothing more than offering him something. He took the sandwich.
pack one extra sandwich a day and decided that I would give it to one homeless person each day. The first day was uneventful; I just found a man who had a large suitcase and bag standing next to him on the bench where he sat in the afternoon sunlight. I explained that I hadn't been able to finish my lunch and asked if he'd like my sandwich. Yes, said he, and took it with thanks. The next time I found two men huddled in the train station and asked; both said yes, but I had only one sandwich. One day I went up to a woman who had many bags, but she said, "Oh, honey, I've just had my lunch and I'm full." Then she warned me about some of the men lying around on benches; one had lice, she warned, another was very high. I walked slowly through Love Park, of all ironies and found a man slouched with his head hung between his knees, a plastic bag tucked beneath his bench. I leaned into him and found his eyeballs somewhere in the swirl of whatever self-medication he had consumed, and I just said, "Here is a sandwich." He looked up a little, slowly wrapped his warped hands around the sandwich and tugged it in towards his chest. Yesterday I found a man who was sitting next to an empty Peeps box; following a man with a crutch over toward the Peep box man, I noticed that the seated man handed the crutches man a small packet of something that had something blue inside it - maybe one dose of something - and as the man with the crutch walked away, I came to the seated man and leaned down to ask him if he would like a sandwich. He raised his head, looked directly at me as though he were started but then his gaze softened when he realized I was doing nothing more than offering him something. He took the sandwich.I wish I could take the photos of the people who are taking my sandwiches, but I know I can't. What I can and will do is buy an extra loaf of bread at the market and continue this "habit" of mine in the hopes that one kind act may generate others. I shall use this space to write about my people in the city.
