It was September 15^th, 1920. It was a cold, gray day in the city. Gray rain fell from a gray sky. Gray cars whizzed by. Gray people rushed down the street under gray umbrellas. A gray shape huddled against a tall, gray building. That gray shape was Wayne Eyun, the homeless man whose name meant bad luck. He sat on the frozen ground, thinking. Thinking, remembering, dreaming, and wishing. He painstakingly got to his feet. He began, for what seemed like the millionth time, to make his way home. He strolled past the buildings, the supermarket, the baseball field, John Street church. Each place brought back old memories. The time he and his brother knocked down a canned soup tower. The best baseball game of his life. The weekly Sunday family gatherings. He smiled and laughed as he remembered. People walking past him sped up, glancing back over their shoulders, but Wayne didn’t notice. He wasn’t even there. He was back in the past, playing and causing mischief.

His name was Wayne Eyun, but even he had started to forget it. It had been weeks since he’s heard anyone call him that. Other times, he was known as the “man on the street” or “the guy with the gray jacket” or most commonly and simply, “the man.” Wayne’s home was located between Wall Street and Broad Street, a small semi-sheltered area away from the walk ways of common pedestrians. Next to it was a street lamp that provided light starting 10:30 PM every single day. It was one of the few things that was constant in Wayne’s daily life. He always relied on the lamp to switch on exactly as the minute hand hits the twelve every single day. The time now, however, was already 10:18PM and Wayne knew he needed to get back. He had never missed the daily lighting of his lamp for as long as he remembers.

This lamp represented so much for him. It meant consistency in his rather uncertain life. It meant a hope for something better. To be honest, it was a rather basic looking street lamp, a glossy black shading that narrowed the further up it went. At the top was a rectangular prism made up of small windows on each side. Light would shine through the glass, providing light for the busy New Yorkers below it. It was minimalistic but Wayne enjoyed it so much. All he wanted in life was something similar, a simple small house with some food to eat.

10:24PM. Wayne started speeding up. It was a ten-minute walk back to his place and he knew he couldn’t stop for any red lights. Even for amongst his fellow New Yorkers, he seemed particularly fast. The change in his pocket jingled louder with each proceeding step and his thighs tightened and loosened to a faster beat. As he strolled down Nassau Street, he passed many like him, beggars, all in their dark corners unwilling to reveal their entire face. Some of were women but most had been man. Wayne remembered walking through these people only two years back. He had never stopped to think of the lives these homeless people lived, even less to consider stopping and dropping a few quarters. They were always perceived as lazy and inactive, but never unfortunate. Now that he lived the same fate, he could relate so much. He had been so ignorant, so blind to reality. These people were just the result of bad influences or unfortunate luck. He pitied them, but now that he is one of them, he couldn’t help.

Many times he would slow his pace as he walked by, hesitantly wondering if it would be a good idea to sit down and just talk. He pondered about the interesting dialogue these encounters would spark. He wondered if they have a family, a wife, or even kids maybe. These thoughts always crossed his mind but not once had he actually stopped to say hello. It was something it hated about himself and never understood. He knew he wanted to, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to it. Instead Wayne strolled past these dark gray figures and refocused his attention to getting home on time.

10:27PM. Wayne saw this time a clock inside of a thrift shop he just passed by. He wasn’t worried, but still paced faster. He could make it right on time but it would be close. Home was just around the block. Wayne’s home was the center of the financial district. On the left, just one block away, stood the New York Stock Exchange. It was a glorious building with billions of dollars being exchanged daily. Outside of the building, stood 6 gigantic pillars that held the building up. Directly in front of Wayne’s home was the Federal Hall. Built originally as New York’s City Hall, it later served as the first capitol building of the United States of America under the constitution. The Federal Hall was demolished but then rebuilt as the Federal Hall National Memorial some years later. Outside of the building was a large bronze statue of no one other than George Washington. Every morning, Wayne would wake up to this stern face of Washington looking into a distance. He’s always wondered what it was that the first president was thinking. This changed every day depending on Wayne’s mood. Some days he thought George was thinking about which direction the country was headed towards while others days he believed he was contemplating about what to eat for lunch. No matter what it was, it wouldn’t change the serious dull face Washington wore.

By 10:29PM, Wayne had made back home and sat comfortably directly next to his favorite lamp post. The streets started to squirm with people. People with suits and ties began to fill up the sidewalks. They all looked like they had places to be. It was unique juxtaposition between these people and Wayne. Many consider one to be successful while the other to be a complete disappointment. This was something Wayne thought about often. He would look at these people and then self-reflect on himself. In his cozy corner, he often liked to people watch. He watched as the people came out and into buildings. He watched people run from building to building. They always seemed to be in a hurry. They always had a serious look on their face, much like Washington’s. To Wayne, they were all identical with their professional attires and suitcases. It was the human machine that operated Wall Street. Sometimes, Wayne was glad he wasn’t one of these “successful businessman” on Wall Street. They were all slave; slaves sucked into this gigantic bureaucratic cycle with no ending. It was the poison of capitalism. Wayne could do whatever it was he wanted. He didn’t have to answer to anybody. He didn’t have to wake up at 7am every day to make it to work on time. He isn’t obligated to sit in a cubicle for nine hours every day crunching numbers and making phone calls. He was, in a way, free. Freer than all these Wall Street guys at least. Sure, these men would be able to afford the latest trends in clothing or the expensive three starred Michelin restaurants, but this didn’t mean anything for Wayne. It never has. He’s always just wanted the simple life. The simple life never meant being homeless though. It just sort of happened this way.

The street lamp flickered on at 8:30. It was always astonishing to Wayne how the lamp knew to turn on exactly the same time every single day. But it did, and it’s never failed him. Today was no different and it made Wayne smile just a bit. The lamp brought light to the cars, the streets, and the busy businessmen walking nearby, letting Wayne see their faces even clearer. For the rest of the night, he would just stare. He looked for anything interesting. Some people would stop to drop a nickel or two into the bag, but most pretended he didn’t even exist. On the rare occasions when Wayne made eye contact with a pedestrian, he’d always try to smile back. These people would almost always look away immediately and walk faster. This puzzled Wayne. He figured they forgot they had to be elsewhere every time.

Slowly, as the night progressed, less and less people seemed to be walking around. By the time it was 2:00AM, the street seemed to be empty. Wayne also became extremely tired. He looked at this bag of where the stranger coins had been tossed. It always gave him a feeling of gratefulness. These people didn’t know him, but they still managed to give him enough to last through the next day. After inching the coin bag closer, he unzipped a pocket from his coat and took out leftover bread from the morning’s haul. Before he remembered biting into it, the tiredness took over and he drifted into an unconscious state.

It was 12:01PM. Wayne was struck awake by the thunderous sounds of an explosion. It took a few moments for him to realize what was happening. There was people running and screaming in every direction. Parents held their kids closer and looking around for any kind of shelter. Smoke filled the air all over the intersection of Wall Street and Broad street. Nearby police officers shouted orders for everyone to evacuate the area immediately. Wayne moved his eyes around the area, searching for the source of the chaos until his eyes landed on the remainders of an unusual wagon right in center of the cross street. All the smoke seemed to be flowing out from this point. Next to the wagon, there were a couple dozens of people lying on the ground without any movement. Lifeless and motionless. A horse laid parallel to the wagon, motionless as well. There were pieces of wood from the wagon half a block away. The realization finally came to Wayne. It was a bomb. A terrorist attack perhaps? Either way, Wayne knew he needed to get out.

“Come on, you need to leave the area immediately,” an approaching officer yelled at Wayne through the chaotic background noise.

“What’s happening? Is this an attack?”

“Don’t ask question. Just evacuate the area immediately.”

Quickly, he gathered his stuff and scrambled his way out. As he ran off, he took a last look back. The buildings that had been his neighbor looked almost unrecognizable. There were pieces of pavement scattered everywhere. Walls of the buildings seemed to have crumbled. What struck Wayne was the statue of George Washington right outside Federal Hall. It seemed untouched. He still wore that stern serious look as if he’s already busy investigating who would do such a thing.

He took an extra second to let everything sink in. People were actually dead. These people worked their entire lives in pursuit of the happiness Thomas Jefferson once referenced. Yet, in less than3 a minute, everything they’ve worked for just completely vanished. Dead. Motionless. Just completely still, on the ground, with no sign of any life. Wayne thought about all the people who cared for them. The mothers, the fathers, the brothers, sisters, friends, wives, husbands, uncles, aunts, these people were. He thought about how fragile life is, but at the same time, how the realization of the importance and powerfulness of life came to him as well. It was an epiphany, he’s never experienced. Suddenly, all the meaninglessness of his life punched him in the face. He knew he needed to change something.

He began to walk back to where the wagon was, where people needed help.