From one block to the next, in my neighborhood, the tempo changes rapidly.  One second you are walking on a beautiful block that is lined with well-maintained brownstones and just yards down, there are housing projects, tired looking people sitting outside drinking beer, loudly talking and cursing at the world.  I tend to just maintain the cadence of my pace, refuse to get uptight and just mind my business.

I was walking home one night, through one of these melting-pot blocks, where social classes intersect and 2 women approached me from behind, asking for the time.  I looked at my watch and answered them, continuing on my way, my focused gait showing that I mean business--in just a block, I'd be back on well-lit Broadway and across the street from my apartment.  It was cold that night and I was glad to have a warm coat, gloves and a scarf.

The younger of the two women started to try to strike up a conversation with me and being a relatively seasoned New Yorker, I knew to just keep walking and remain only cursorily polite.  Chilly night, indeed.  It was much colder in New York than on the beaches of Jamaica, where her and her mother are from.  She nodded towards the older woman next to her to indicate that was her mother.  I smiled uncomfortably and paused at the intersection.  One more block and I'd be home.

The woman stammered and paused and started telling me about surgery she'd had to remove a cyst and her mother's bad back.  I hadn't any money on me and I was relieved that I wouldn't have to lie when I opted to give them nothing.  Theirs was a story that New Yorkers hear every day, nothing new and original and just looking for cash handouts.  As I was about to tell her, curtly, that I had no money on me, she stopped me.  "We don't want money.  We have an apartment, but we have nothing in there … no soap, no toilet paper and not even real utensils.  Can you spare anything?"

They weren't asking for money--and that's what got my attention.  I asked them to wait on a bench outside of my apartment and told them I'd be right back.

Being the obsessive-compulsive girl that I am, I often buy things in bulk and have excess in my house. They had nothing and I had not enough closet space.  I grabbed shopping bags and filled them up with anything I could think of--basics--toothpaste, soap, toothbrushes, tampons, toilet paper, canned soup and vegetables, some mugs and plastic spoons and a few sweaters that were due to be given to good will.  This was good will.  The plastic handles dug into my hands as I carried two bags down to the street and surprised to see me returning with so much in tow. They hadn't expected me to return and were happy to take the heavy bags from me. The mother cried and the daughter hugged me.  And it was the best night ever.