He went into the oncoming pedestrians, half of them on their phones, and failed to pull his shoulder back, knocking the woman, intent on her messages, sideways. 
Another was coming right after her, protecting a plastic bag. 
“What ya got in there?”
“A crystal palace.”
“Looks like some bullshit trophy to me.” 
“Come on, man, have a heart.” The homeless man was on his knees, hat and sweater askew. “Jesus had a heart for you.” 
He cut around him and hurried down the stairs to the 5 train.
Bushwick is photogenic as hell. 
Colorful and raw.
A distinct smell pervades.
The contrasts stand out most of all.
While walking home last night, we witnessed a group of low-riding biker kids rocket along the sidewalks of 56th Street. They swerved through the few pedestrians and then around a homeless man asleep against a building. 
“We should jump him!” Two of them spun back while another brought out his cellphone to record. It was an easy jump, and they laughed about that.
I was incensed. “You guys are a bunch of assholes!”
They looked back, half smiling, grunting. What was the big deal? It was just some homeless guy. And off they went.
We thought about calling the police but knew that would get the homeless man in trouble as well. And so that was that.
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