Leaving home in the frigid darkness of 5am reminds me of the shelter. I take a moment to picture the breakfast table of brothers in the South Bronx. They are there. Starting from zero, looking for work and for an apartment. Looking to escape the system that steps hard on their chest with every application refused, every program filled up or insufficient, every job that leads to nothing but unstable survival. So many of them have heart problems. Many that Lincoln hospital will never fix. They are there, I think. And I am here.
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