Urine on my shoe

I was in SF the other day having a conversation with a man who is addicted to speed. He has been living on the streets for several years now, and during those years his record for staying off speed is 10 months. He started doing it after his girlfriend left him. He was devastated and moved into a "speed house", and the rest is history. The striking thing about this man is that he seems to have so much going for him...good looking guy, clean cut, articulate, intelligent. He was studing art and photography at a well known school. At this point he seems to be enslaved and stuck in an endless nightmare. He speaks of the pain that devastates him each and every day.
While I was listening to his story, an elderly lady appeared, hunched over with a walker and a small white dog on a leash, shuffling along. She stopped about fifteen feet away from the line, the line to sign up to receive a box of groceries on this Monday morning. She asked if she was at the end of the line. As she was obviously not anywhere near the line, several people motioned to her to move towards the actual line. The bearded man who claims that the system is designed to control people like himself who are on medication quickly helped her find her place. He showed a sincerity in his assistance of the woman that struck me. It was as if he genuinely cared for her and didn't mind taking a small piece of his day to help her however he could. He actually really wanted to help her. Just then as my new friend who is addicted to speed was continuing his amazing life story, the elderly lady's dog approached me. I continued to listen, yearning to communicate with my body and face that I truly do care about this story, but then something happened. I first realized it when my friend Mark looked at me and seemed to be holding back a smile or laugh. This was odd because we were in the middle of an intense conversation, and Mark is not the type of person to be distracted and laugh at an inappropriate moment. I suddenly realized...the dog was urinating on my shoes. My only pair of black shoes...the shoes I usually wear into the City. I really like those shoes, and since I had taken a vow to not buy myself any clothes for a year, this wasn't what I was hoping to see as I looked down towards the ground. However, at the same time, I realized how unconsequential my shoes really are. Here is a man tormented by his addictions, struggling with his relationship with his father, holding onto a dream of publishing photographs, living on the streets of San Francisco.

"May your Kingdom come, on earth, as it is in Heaven."