as seen here

the steel and glass towers rise in hinterlands previously considered uninhabitable, so our city has way more swell and far less seedy. there remains a tiny quadrant in a weird no-man's land corridor where there are hustlers to be had. i see these boys, glazed eyes, dirty jeans and edged by a desperate aura. they make me incredibly sad. even worse, each only seems around a few weeks, and then *poof*.

recently i watched a surreal bit of street theatre. a man in his mid-50s, wearing astonishingly expensive loafers and a sportcoat likely woven by the still nimble fingers of a 6-year old tibetan, from the fur of fetal cashmir goats, was stamping his foot, pointing in the kid's face, and screaming, "YES, YOU WILL!!". hands in pockets, sneaker scuffing the sidewalk, the kid's head was hanging down, just shaking "no." "FIFTY BUCKS, I SAID!!! FIFTY BUCKS!!" the guy looked like he used those u. s. grants for toilet paper. i was down the block and across the street and i could hear him. i put on that handy-dandy cloak of urban invisibility and walked by fast. barely audible, i heard the kid say, "no."

my mind reeled as to the possible insidious demand. i also felt queasy having witnessed something that should have been so private. yet, i felt somehow the boy was safer because he still had limits. he remained human.