As usual (for me and for many Americans), I’m making some final charitable donations at the end of the year. But this year, one memory haunts me.
I was standing on a subway platform, waiting for a rush-hour train sometime last winter when a man started making his way through the crowd. He was maybe in his 30s, White, heavyset, unshowered. He went up to each commuter in turn and said, “I’m hungry.” Like a child would say it to a mom, urgent and whiny at the edges. “I’m hungry.” Begging — asking for food or money — but also begging. Pleading.
