¶ … rounded the corner of the block, my heart skipped a beat, and I felt fear slither into my veins. There was a man lying on the sidewalk to the right of the glass and metal door leading to the parking garage. I paused, looking at him closely to determine whether it was safe to pass him or not. I would have to walk over him to get through the door. The street was otherwise empty. No cars passed, and I could dimly see the end of the sidewalk through the falling snow. The cold cement walk was already covered with a fine layer of thin white flakes. I decided to swallow my fear, and continue on. My mother's voice suddenly spoke inside my head: "Whenever you feel as though someone is dangerous, walk with determination.." Holding my head high, I pulled my coat closer to me, and forged ahead.

The man wore a dark brown jacket, possibly cotton, two sizes too large with gray patches sewn over the elbows. Underneath, I could see a black hooded sweatshirt, pulled up high enough to cover his ears. His right hand, holding a lit cigarette, had no protection, but his left was covered slightly by a worn, fingerless glove. The strings of the sweatshirt flapped in the brisk winter wind.

His skin was white, and showed no signs of bathing. Patches of grime streaked his bearded face; I could see the areas around his eyes were the only clean spots on his pale skin. His clothes were disheveled, badly wrinkled, and obviously worn. His beard, gray in the dim light of the streetlamp, appeared matted...

As I neared, I noted his blue slacks were too small, leaving a small circle of skin around his lower calves uncovered. His dark socks weren't long enough to pull up over the raw, cold skin underneath. The shoes on his feet, tennis shoes too thin for the winter wind, were beginning to split at the sides. His hands shook as he finished his cigarette, putting it out on the sidewalk next to him. He carefully placed the butt into a small hole in the cement walkway.
I could see his mouth moving, but couldn't quite make out the words. His voice, soft and high, drifted to me in the brisk wind, but all I could make out was the name "Jason." His hands gestured, first pointing at something in the distance, then lowering to a conversational level, as if he were talking to an old friend. I could see no one on the street.

Nervous, I again hesitated. Who was this man talking to? Was he going to harm me? I reasoned that I had no choice but to continue, and braced myself for an unpleasant situation.

Trying not to stare, I began to walk past the man, glancing down to avoid stepping on his small body. As I did, he glanced my way, and I stopped in my tracks. I could still feel the wind, could still hear the whistle of a train in the distance, but it was as though my body was frozen in place.

I had…