From a distance, the city's lights glisten like diamonds on velvet. In the evening, I sit on my porch overlooking the city and watch them erupt to life. But when I drive through the city on business, the diamonds lose their sparkle.
Velvet turns to burlap.
Along north Broadway, men and women in evening attire stroll the streets, holding hands, window-shopping. A little farther south, though, things change. Men and women in tattered clothing carry plastic shopping bags and rummage through trash bins. One night, I parked my car and stepped onto the sidewalk, moving closer than usual to the invisible residents of downtown. Randy, an alcoholic, was slumped against the graffiti-marred brick wall outside an adult video store.