18th Street is quite charming in the morning. The street is empty but for a few other people walking to the office and those cleaning the streets from the previous night’s revelry and the sun glints off the eclectically colorful buildings.
There’s a small, concave patch of sidewalk at the top of stairs leading down to a basement level restaurant that sits between two other stairways leading to establishments on the second floor. Every morning, for the past two weeks, there has been a man sleeping in that little nook off the main sidewalk area. In the morning, he’s positioned facing downtown — the Monument just off in the distance with the sun rising by its side. In the evening, he’s facing uptown. But for the switch, I would have given serious consideration to that fact that he might have passed out dead there that first day I saw him.
Every day. For two weeks. And who knows how many days, weeks, months, years before.