now for something truly disturbing . . . do U ever imagine what would happen if U lost everything? . . . i do, every time i pass a homeless person . . . there but for the grace of god . . . not that i've ever even come close, but hey i'm a drama queen . . . still, it's not often that ruin gets any closer to U than homelessness . . . but it did, again on a recent Saturday morning outside of Fairway, when i was unchaining my bike from a parking meter . . . i recognized a guy from the Pines . . . Robinson Crusoe, i call him in my mind, to capture his outsiderness . . . a little odd, but in a good way with his gentle hippie-like appearance, always combing the beach with a plastic shopping bag . . . a creative type, i guessed . . . definitely not the kind of guy U would usually find at tea or the Pavilion . . . we'd seen each other long enough that we occasionally nodded to one another in the city but today was different . . . he nervously put his head down as he approached from the east on West 75th Street . . . he carried two shopping bags that had seen better days, my first clue about his situation, and he looked a little distraught . . . i turned to watch him when he passed . . . he crossed the street and stopped in front of a wire garbage basket on Broadway . . . he reached in for a bottle which he added to one of his bags, just as he looked over his shoulder back in my direction . . . now there are plenty of men in the Pines i easily could kick on their way down, but Robinson Crusoe isn't one of them . . . the question is will he be able to return enough bottles to get back to paradise? and if he does, will i be able to keep his secret?