London Journal

In the fall of 1999, I studied law at University College London. "Studied" is a relative term. I did have some provocative classes and classmates, but the real value of the experience was just being there. I kept a journal. Here's an excerpt:

Monday, October 4, 1999

. . . anyway, I resolved last night not to walk by another homeless person here without giving at least some of what change I had.

When the test came, it spoke with an Irish accent. The woman on Gower Place showed me scars on her arms and the dirty face of her child. I gave her what I had on me, which couldn't have been any more than a pound. She pulled me closer and told me she needed to get home to Dublin - that she needed twenty pounds. Then I noticed people walking by and was somehow embarrassed that I was standing there talking to this poor woman. I wasn't embarrassed by the fact that I would be seen with her, but that they might take me for a fool. I didn't want to look like I was being taken by this woman.

Was she telling the truth? Who knows? Did I have twenty pounds? Not on me, but I could have had it in minutes. Did I give it to her? No. I said, "I'm sorry, I can't help you." I should have said, "I won't help you" because I could have. . . .

I guess if she were buying drugs or beer with the money, then I'd be telling the truth: I really couldn't help her then. But how do you know? Maybe that shouldn't be the question. Isn't it better to be taken by someone than to suspect everyone? . . . . When was the last time I've done something for someone else that involved any risk?