Not my city.

I had never been to this part of town before, and if I didn't know better, I would have sworn that I was in another city altogether. My part of town represented a city I was proud to live in. At any given time of day when one stepped outside of my apartment complex there were people walking the streets, headed toward one of the trendy shops or coffee bars. You never walked far without seeing a jogger or biker, and if you walked just four blocks you found yourself in a big beautiful park watching dogs chasing Frisbees, families picnicking, and students from the college studying under a tree. I loved my city. But not this place. This street was desolate and ugly. The shops were neglected or bared up. The few people that were out seemed tired or bored.
I rechecked my GPS just to make sure I had it right. I didn't want to be lost down here. I parked my car on the street and double checked my locks before stepping onto the sidewalk. I walked along, aware of how quiet it was. There were no children playing, no people talking, no cars driving by. The quiet was so loud in my head that I started whistling to block it out. I put my hands in my pockets and felt some loose change from the coffee shop this morning. I shook the coins, liking the clang they made alongside my whistling. I felt bold, superior.
 Don't be such a snob.
 My cheeks flushed. I had never felt superior to anyone before. I wasn't one of them, the out of touch elite. I was an everybody kind of guy. I supported causes and voted the right way. I rallied against social injustice and discussed foreign policy with my friends. Yet here I was, hating the drabness of this place. Hating that it was part of my city. I sighed heavily and stopped whistling. I stopped looking for the right address and instead looked around me. There were some people out after all. I noticed the shop keeper across the street, standing at his door cleaning the glass with a rag. He looked at me and smiled. Had he been there a second ago? Just ahead of me was a bus stop. There were three women waiting. One of them had a baby in her arms. They all laughed at the same time. The oldest one saw me out of the corner of her eye and smiled. I smiled back. I walked on. Up ahead there was a homeless man, sitting on a bench. His possessions were piled up next to him; a large black trash bag with a blanket peeking over the top, an almost empty water bottle, a ball cap and a scruffy dog. I noticed he had a little bowl of water for his dog. This struck me. A man who could barely care for himself, yet here he was caring for this little dog. I felt for the change in my pocket and pulled it out. Less than a dollar. I looked from my hand and back to the man. His eyes were a light blue. His hair gray and cut close. He had a small beard that was surprisingly well kept. He smiled at me.
 "Hello there!" he said, with a grin.
"Um, hi," I said, feeling self-concise. "I'm sorry I don't have much change, just this here." I handed him what I had. It was nothing. An insult.
The man tilted his head, looking at me with interest. His dog barked.
"Why, thank you, James. Every bit helps."
I felt relieved that I hadn't offended him, "You're welcome."
I turned and started walking back to my car, forgetting why I had come down here in the first place. Forgetting that I still had something to do, forgetting that I had not told the homeless man my name.