Still Full From Breakfast

This week has been a week for reflection.   I see such a broad spectrum of society passing before me.  When I'm busking, I'm in pretty much one spot.  The world passes me by.  I see all ages, all races, and people in very different financial situations.  Rittenhouse Square is one of the affluential parts of the city.  People smoke expensive cigars on sidewalk cafes, sipping hundred dollar bottles of wine.  Others eat out of bags from McDonald's on park benches.  Some go hungry.
The park is a mixing pot of society.  I've been thinking a lot about poverty and homelessness this week.  I see many of the same people every day.  The park is their place to hang out while the sun is up.  Same bench, same companions, same clothes, day-in, day-out.  I also see the same affluent people walk by.  I used to teach in a posh charter school, and the director has an office on Rittenhouse Square.  She walks by now, but she no longer knows me, now that I'm busking.  I also used to work in an exclusive museum nearby, where a few "high-roller" members would chat up a storm with me, when I worked in the museum.  Funny how they don't look at me or recognize me now.  Convince me it's because they suffer from short-term memory.
I use the term "street people" loosely, to describe those who spend their days on the streets.  I'm sure many of them have places to go at night, warm beds to sleep in, but have no job or occupation to go to during the day, so the park is the logical choice.  Many of them have befriended me.  I'm a soft touch, and they know it.  I do like talking with them.  Many listen to the music more closely than others.  Many comment and give me feedback and encouragement.  Some ask for money.  But not all.  And that's o.k.
Yesterday a well dressed woman was eating a piece of chocolate cake she had bought from a nearby bakery, which probably cost her at least $4.75.  She didn't seem to like it.  She balled the entire piece of cake up in the paper bag, and walked twenty feet to the trash can, rather than walk five feet to the next bench, where a street person was sitting, and probably hadn't had lunch that day.
I was moved today by observing three street people in succession who rummaged through the trash can next to me where I play, looking for food.  I thought of my beautiful lunch my wife had made for me.  Tunafish sandwich with chopped celery on 12-grain bread and two mandarin oranges.  I offered the third man the bag, describing it's contents with appetizing adjectives.  He thanked me profusely and hurried to a bench nearby and dove in.
The irony was, I was still full from breakfast.
I thought a lot about that.  Still full.  From breakfast.
How fortunate I am, never to go hungry.
Just wanted to share these observations with you.
And now I'll get back to playing my guitar and singing.