Walking down 28th Street between 8th and 7th Avenues at 2 am on a Saturday night/Sunday morning.
Grizzly homeless man leaning on the lower cross bar of a scaffold in front of a building. He’s smoking a cigarette, drinking something from a paper cup. Wild hair and beard.
Just him. Just me. No one else around.
He’s staring into space wistfully, eyes looking at about the 10th floor level of the building across the street.
Talking to himself, certainly not to me.
In surprisingly lucid language with only a slight drunken drawl, he makes a
statement:
“I saw this boredom coming since the early nineties.”