Today he sits on the sidewalk, in minus degree temperatures, holding a ragged sign which reads “give me hope.” It’s a familiar sight that I’ve become somewhat desensitized to; I don’t think I can truly understand his situation. Seeing him sleeping rough, a few people throw in some coins, someone else gifts him a Costa coffee, while an occasional passer-by stops to offer a few comforting words. All nice gestures. But, my heart says, what he really needs is hope. In that sense we are all beggars
