Someone once asked how I decided whether or not to give to a beggar.
I was in New York City at the time, and there were beggars on the subway working the cars with a sob storyand a paper cup. There were nuns in pairs or threes sitting in corners of town with coffee cans and blessings. There were people sick and deranged muttering and chatting and complaining and asking for money as if spare change was an afterthought. There was a young man, a music student, playing Vivaldi down in one of the City's deepest subway tunnels, one of the old round ones with tiled... Sign in to see full entry.