The Streets Of An Apartment Building

In downtown San Jose, there are many homeless people in the streets. Sometimes I find myself walking quickly past by hoping that they will not ask me a question. Some of these people could have led successful lives, and a misfortunate event may have caused them to live on the streets. We associate shaggy clothing and messy looks with homeless people. This false image creates the fear that we have yet to accept. This also increases the marginalization within our society. A thought Staples has is “to remain a shadow—timid, but a survivor” (167). For all we know, these people are minding their own business, and we insert ourselves into thinking that they may want something from us when they just want to get by in life. They remain on the sidelines when they know that other people do not accept them because they could be charged or arrested as a criminal for bothering someone else, since it is easy to be susceptible if one is a person of color. Thus, it could lead to false accusations and contribute to mass

An opportunity arose to visit the city of my dreams. My school’s basketball team was participating in a tournament at Yeshiva University, and my friend Zach had an apartment that we could stay in nearby in Washington Heights. My parents were skeptical at first, because they were concerned with the safety of Washington Heights. I eventually persuaded them to let me stay with Zach, when my uncle Rich volunteered to backstop my trip. I began to contact my uncle Rich who lives in the Upper East Side of New York, to see if he had any advice on what to do while in New York. He worked together with me to brainstorm ideas of how to maximize my trip. I tried to get Zach involved with the planning but he became overwhelmed, and preferred to live by the play it by ear mentality. After a few weeks of planning with Rich, it came time to board the plane in West Palm Beach. Zach and I sat next to a girl who was a native New Yorker. I asked her “what do you do for fun in New York.” She responded by saying “ the best part of New York is getting lost.” I thought that she had an interesting response, but I didn’t plan on getting lost.

A wealthy man consistently donates money to multiple charities and therefore considers himself a giving person. After just auctioning off an $800 painting he takes to walking the busy streets of Gainesville. While reflecting on his generous behavior, he spots a homeless man some ways away from him. Hoping to avoid the man, he hastily crosses the street to avoid the dirty beggar. Looking over his shoulder he thinks I’m sick of these druggies, and continues on with his day. This is how Flannery O’Connor portrays the “holier than thou” concepts shown throughout her writing. Through the year’s individuals develop experiences that they carry on with them for the rest of their lives. Flannery O’Connor’s strongest experiences were rooted through her

Can you guess what street in Brooklyn is the longest? It's so long that there is a good chance that you traverse it daily and don't event realize it.

One evening, my family and I were approached by a homeless man asking for money as we were about to enter a restaurant. My siblings jolted behind my father; however, his eyes caught my attention. He was starving; not only for food but for clothes, warmth, a home, and a family. All of which are aspects of our lives that we take for granted. My father offered to pay for any meal of his choice. Up to this point in my life, I had never realized how privileged I am to be able to walk into any restaurant and complain about how full I was; while others are out in the cold, starving. The most prominent memory of this night was when I saw the

The essay begins with a short description of the writer’s own experience when she arrived in New York, from the bustling in the crowded streets, to the impersonal existence in her apartment, as she knows none of her neighbors and can only speculate who they are and what they are doing by the sounds they’re making. She moves on to giving several examples of how New Yorkers react with apathy when in crowds, even when something utterly absurd happens, like a woman wearing only her bathrobe on the bus exclaims that she must have forgotten her token in

We encounter too many people everyday and it’s impossible to get to know them all. We observe and gauge them based on appearances, just like we do with “ Books based on their cover ” says Edwin Rolfe in “Murder in the Glass room”. In “Strangers” by Morrison, she meets a fisherwoman at her neighbor’s seawall. Morrison notices that the woman was “wearing men’s shoes, a man’s hat, a well-worn colorless sweater over a long black dress”(Morrison 199). It seems upon seeing disgracefully dressed fisherwoman Morrison feels sympathy for her since roughly dressed people are considered to be unsuccessful and defeated in today’s world. Whenever we see homeless people weather on streets or on television they are always shabbily dressed, but have we ever seen a successful person dressed like a homeless guy? We think and opinionate based on our past experiences and adapt to what we see and hear in the environment around us. ||||| In “Stranger in the village” Baldwin visits a little village in Switzerland to work. No black man had ever been to this village before and the Baldwin was told that he would be a

The book presented statistics about New York’s poverty and contained drawings of the photos from Riis’ unending tour of the city’s worst slums. Riis said that his motivation for presenting such a dark tableau was “that every man’s experience ought to be worth something to the community from which he drew it, no matter what that experience may be.”

One sunny day on the busy streets of Chicago, a homeless man walked down the sidewalks scowling at nearby street peddlers. He went by the name of Richard Walker, better known as Rich, which was very ironic. He walked down the sidewalks through different people, catching sections of their conversation. “Look at Rich! Don’t give that old homeless man any money!” Although Rich was well used to it, didn’t mean he took it lightly at all.

Vollmann's self-definitions include his pondering over how much education a beggar needs. If this beggar does not want to become literate but is happy, who is he [Vollmann] to judge on whether the beggar is poor or not, This leads him to the realization that we should respect others self-awareness and self-judgments; Vollmann consecutively makes this point. Who is he [Vollmann] to judge someone's sense of poverty. Being a Sacramento native, Vollmann constantly sees homelessness and poverty, he discusses the phenomenon of everyday American citizens ignoring the unperceivable poverty-stricken individual sleeping on the sidewalk.

So many people in the American society live paycheck to paycheck and are one financial catastrophe away from financial ruin. In my own experience, after my husband’s employer continually embezzled from employees and clients, we found ourselves in a terrifying position. Jobless, penniless, and entrenched in mountains of subsequent debt, we were acquainted with the terror many American’s face while struggling to keep food on the table and a roof over our family. Just as the chapter 9 in our textbook describes, Aaron and his wife quickly realized that their income was “no longer sufficient to meet their needs,” (Openstax Intro to Sociology, 2015), we found ourselves in the same position. During my husband’s search for a new job, he began doing all he could to keep food on the table. He participated in tree removal, a laughable wage for hard physical labor. In desperation, I took a full time babysitting job looking after two very difficult little girls for a measly $250 a week. Looking back, although the situation was terrible and trying, we cannot wish it away. The situation taught us what mattered. There were so many things my family took for granted. The situation opened our eyes to the trials and suffering of many people in our society and allowed us to develop compassion, love, and understanding. Now, as we think back to our own struggles, it is much easier to reach out

Rufus Scott, a young black musician, walks out of a theater in a heat of self-loathing and depression from his homeless conditions and biting memories of a relationship with a Southern white women named Leona. With no apartment and no place to go, he wanders the city, pondering over these memories and whether he should look to his white friend and aspiring writer and bookseller, Vivaldo, for help. In his shame and desperation he doesn’t want anyone he knows to recognize him but wishes someone to see and care enough to help him. Walking to a bar and watching the people mill around he finds himself remembering himself being one of this crowd, one of the bustlers of New York and presumably having a life significantly better, with his family and

Rose left before the meal, but she took an apple with her. This upset me upset me at first, because I helped her inside. For some reason I felt she at least owed me to stay through breakfast. Why would she owe me anything, who am I? Someone who has greatly misjudged their role and who has forgotten what it is like to be in need. I was homeless once, but I’ve never been knocked completely down, always have had somewhere to shower, food to eat, and an out of some sort. Because of this I placed myself in a privileged minority group. Yes, I still faced discrimination, but I was higher in the hierarchy than others so I felt “better” about myself. Once she left, remaining at the wobbly table was myself and an older gentleman .Larry was his name, he fixed the table so that our food wouldn’t slide off the table. I shared my eggs with him since I don’t like eggs and didn’t want to throw them away. He made me feel comfortable during the thirty minutes I was there. I wasn’t uncomfortable at the looks I received after getting out of a car ( I wasn’t the only one who drove), nor because it was noticeable that I’m not homeless, but because in a way I felt better than this group because of my place in society, when in reality I could be back in their place at any moment. It shocked me how humbling this experience was for me also at my own thoughts. I got angry when one gentleman became irate when someone else got more grits than him, when he had already received two portions. How could he treat people who donated their time to do something for the community in this manner? But just like everyone else I stayed out of it and ate my breakfast, didn’t want any trouble for myself once finished my

The lack of dignity that these individuals feel is a direct effect of society’s disrespect for the lower class. The stereotypes of the homeless conceived by upper social classes, cause the lower class to lose any respectable role they may have in society. A homeless man in Oberlin, Ohio says, “Many of us historically invisible people, in our quest for visibility, have chosen to take the routes of organization and alliance building. Often we tend to find that our muted voices have more resonance, bass, and credibility within these snugly, institutionally sanctioned cubby holes” (Laymon). After failing to get sufficient help through

As I walked out of my nine-story apartment complex, I saw an interesting array of faces. Mixed genders, some male, some female, all very different deep down inside. I study their faces, wondering what it'd be like to walk a day in their shoes. Some people are like open books, you can look at their facial expression and instantly guess what their emotions are, yet others are like locked diaries. You can't tell what they're thinking and you'll probably never know. I shake the thought out of my head as I rummage through my pathetic excuse of a handbag, pulling out my most recent bank statement. Thirty-two cents to my name. How do I live like this? My train of thought is lost as my mind ponders elsewhere. Do you think people can tell I'm a broke