Mary Novaria

I saw a dead man in the park this morning. He was lying on his side in the grass next to his walker and a sack of belongings. A fire truck had just arrived and I saw a few uniformed men prodding him with gloved hands as I approached. A moment or two later, one of the paramedics put his gear back in the truck—no need for resuscitation equipment. It shook me, seeing this person, or the shell of him anyway… alone… dead in the grass between the sidewalk and the street… for how long, I wonder, before someone noticed. Ten yards away, children squealed in the fenced-in playground under the watchful eyes of mommies and nannies. Dozens of homeless souls spend their days in the park that’s kitty corner from where we live. City ordinance forbids them from staying overnight, although I suspect some of them do anyway, if they can escape the vigilance of the local police. There’s a shelter quite a few blocks away for overnight stays, and some take their chances in the doorways of local retail ...