Some years ago, at the end of Winter, I made my only trip to the US to date. I stayed in Manhattan overnight, to wait for a train to upstate New York the next day. Early in the morning, on my way to Penn Station, I remember walking along a street with several embassies. Near one of them, a number of homeless people waited in a single file for the cups of hot soup being handed by a lady from the back of a van. Further on, other homeless men stood outside the station, enjoying their soups or their already comforted stomachs. One of them, a very tall black man wearing an unbuttoned trench coat, faced one of the entrances, arms wide open, basking in the hot air mixed with classical music blowing from inside the station. The city thawing its humans in its warm breath.
(Contribuição para um desafio do Global Writing & Storytelling Group do Internations em Maio de 2022.)