I’m walking through downtown Atlanta, a city of concrete and glass. I’m wet; I knew the second I walked outside that I needed to go put on my rain boots, but if I went back for them, I’d miss the 2:33 bus. So I made it to the bus on time but now my feet are wet in my cheap Target ballet flats. The buildings on either side of me stretch towards the sky and disappear into the fog. Today is a holiday and everyone who can be inside, is. I cannot help but notice the black garbage bag sitting on the ground, its owner on a bench, head bowed, soaked past the point of caring. I see him and my heart breaks.
I am constantly reminded of this simple fact: I am here because I choose to be, not because there is nowhere else for me to go.