The Good Samaritan

    Today I had a rare day off, so I decided to spend some time writing at the Philadelphia Free Library. After grabbing a hoagie and a soda, I walked to the fountain to enjoy my lunch, with the iconic Art Museum and Rocky steps in view. The area was quiet, with only a few people around—one of whom was an older woman sitting across from me, eating a bagged lunch with a small juice. One of the round plastic ones they give you at school or the hospital. After she finished, she got up, leaving behind her spot at the bench, and walked away.

    Not long after, a man staggered into the area, moving with a worn, dragging shuffle that spoke to hard times. His clothes were disheveled, his face weary. He checked each trash can around the fountain, searching for something, but every search came up empty. Each time, I saw his shoulders sag a little more, his steps slow a little further. When he finally came near, I braced myself, convinced he would ask me for money. I thought about how much I hated these encounters. The panhandlers in the city, who make you uncomfortable, who guilt you into parting with your change.

    But then, I had a realization—one that hit harder than I expected. This man wasn’t asking out of laziness or entitlement; he was asking because he had no other choice. Could I imagine having to ask a stranger for money to eat? The shame, the vulnerability. How desperate would I have to be? How much would I have to let go of my own dignity to let a stranger know I couldn’t afford food?

    As he came closer, I felt compelled to share what I had left of my sandwich, my chips, even the little bit of change in my pocket. But then, something unexpected happened.

    He walked past me, straight to the spot where the woman had been sitting. There, on the bench, she had left a small pyramid of snack boxes and a sandwich—almost like an offering. Without hesitation, the man took the sandwich and pocketed two of the snack boxes, leaving behind one apple juice. Then, without a second thought, he unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite.

TRUE OG

    I watched, stunned. The woman had left her food, perhaps knowing or hoping that someone in need would find it. She didn’t wait around for thanks or recognition. She simply did what she could, without fanfare, and went on her way.

    True kindness is doing something without expecting anything in return. It’s an act that doesn’t need witnesses, applause, or reward. This woman may never know the impact of what she did today, but she reminded me of something profound: sometimes, the smallest acts of compassion are the ones that matter most.