She was sitting hunched next to the subway entrance.
I couldn't just walk by,
prayed about what to say,
whether to share pizza.
"We can get out of the cold,  get some food..."
"My name is Samantha."
She's twenty four years old, from upstate New York.
Only been in the city a few months,
"didn't work out."
She's been homeless for about a week.
Sleeps on the A train, rides it up and down.
Said she was sitting outside to smoke a cigarette.
It's not time to take her ride just yet.
People buy her meals. Like me.
Says she has an audition tomorrow. She's a dancer.
"I'm a musician myself.
I explained how I make my living,
how I keep my expenses down...
"Ever tried dumpster diving?
It's different in NYC.
Ever noticed there's no actual dumpsters?
I get food every Tuesday:
bagels, donuts, chocolate, fruits, veggies...
Here's my card.
You can stay in touch, get free internet at the library.
42nd and 5th."
She writes like she talks. Slowly.
When she looks at me I notice she has a lazy eye.

She ate less than half of her pizza,
said she was suffering from stomach pain.
"They don't know what it's from."
I offered to take her to a pharmacy,
but she already has Pepto Bismol.
"I'm taking the train up to 145 street if you want some company."
It's not time to take her ride just yet.
Please e-mail me to touch base.
I'll meet you on Tuesday at 10p,
116th street, Columbia University.
Have a good night, see you then.

By: Gio Andollo


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