It is invariably on the nights that I don’t want to do so that I am forced to walk dozens of blocks to get home. Somewhere a million miles from here is a better way. Here, however, there is merely Broadway.
Broadway and the omnipresent, endless list of all the things that have gone before. These are of course one and the same thing in some way, especially at 2.00 in the morning on 100th Street with no subway running.
Years ago in undergrad a friend told me that it’s not enough to care if all you do with that caring is regret everything once it’s already happened. Every now and then I think back to that person and feel like finding them just to say, “I suppose it’s that much better to use your caring to make someone feel miserable and guilty about their own way of caring? Or even better, to use your caring to make them stop caring at all?”
Humanity will not get along. There is no justice for existing sins to be found in such a transmutation. And we are far too far along in history to find any sort of a resolution without justice—even vengeance—for everyone that has ever been wronged.
A sociologist? I’m not even a scholar. I’m a lost facet of misguided conscience. I’m a stone-hitter.