The Things I See When I Walk My Dog (1)

I walk my dog very early every morning. Not always so early on Saturday's and Sundays, but never long after sunrise. I've been waking up (or trying to) between 3:30 and 4:00am for the past month to write and to read. It has been pretty true since I brought my dog home, a shock white eight week old puppy then, that when I'm awake he is too. His name is Odin and he's not quite a puppy anymore. Odin is a five year old purebred Alaskan Malamute (a woolly, so he has a long, full, coat), and he he looks like he weighs about 110 pounds. He doesn't, but I don't mind the spectre of his size. He's not the type of animal often seen at the end of a leash in central Philadelphia; he turns heads. I wouldn't normally want that kind of attention at 4:30 am on Logan Square sidewalks or on the banks of the Schuylkill River. That's not to say that those are particularly dangerous places, but I would not be walking around them so early were Odin a Dachshund, or a teacup Poodle.
            I see the city in its pre-dawn state, during its restless sleep, when it waits to be woken. Even so early, the city is never still and never quiet. There is little pause between sets of car and truck headlights even then.Before five am the air is already hot and oppressively humid. I have to wash my face after everyone of my morning walks. I blame that on the coffee some, but more so on the summer.By now there are breezes every morning, but not strong enough to change what it is. It is August and the air is hot.
            So I wonder why the man with the bicycle decides to lie down, every morning, by the venting steam that constantly emerges from beneath the streets. He rests his head on the bike's seat and sleeps.
            The first time I saw him on the corner of 20th and Cherry streets, half a block from the door to my apartment building, was only last week. My walk was nearly over, (I always see him as I am returning, after the police have driven through the parks to wake the homeless men and women, and direct them, so much as they can, away from the doorsteps of the cities iconic buildings.) when I saw the downed bicycle and the the bony, bearded, man beside it. It looked like a crash. The front wheel of the bike and handlebars were perpendicular to the brownstone sidewalk, the rear wheel spun in the steam, and the man's arms were splayed on the ground. I couldn't see yet that his head was deliberately rested. Even so, I didn't rush to aid him. I'm a human, and not a particularly good one, so unless he had been a young girl, and crying (I don't want to delve too heavily into race now, but it would be pretentious self deception if I failed to write that his black skin influenced my action.) I was going to be wary. I walked halfway down Cherry St, intending to circle the block and get to my building from the opposite, Arch St, side, while ignoring the issue altogether. But no, I needed to at least pass by the man.
             He stank. His smell was foul enough that Odin turned away. It wasn't just the aroma of booze or body odor but something more feral. He wasn't yet middle aged, though haggard about the face, and even with black clothing he was noticeably dirty. His breath, chest occasionally pressing against his shirt, was that of a sound sleeper. I stepped over him, and down the twenty yards or so to the steps of my building.
             About an hour later, when I emerged showered, fed, and set for my commute, the man was gone. I hadn't heard an ambulance (living on the front side of the building, having heard their sirens before, I know that I would have) but still thought the worst was possible. So, it has been relieving (and conscious cleansing), to see him back there every weekday since. I don't look twice anymore.

Epilogue, of sorts: Just this morning, as I worked to revise this post a bit, I received a text message from a friend in my building. She was up early, headed to Rochester for a long weekend. "there's a homeless guy sleeping on the end of our road," she said, "...don't be frightened he's alive." She had given him a half a box of granola bars, her snack supply for the road, and left him. I told her she was a better person than I. She is. I didn't tell her how later, while walking Odin, I found a half a box of granola bars left alone on the sidewalk, unopened and uneaten.