91.   Old white men sat next to young black men, white couples next to single black mothers.

92.   On our December visit, two Hawaiian men were sitting at a picnic table in the shade, one picking a guitar, the other strumming a ukulele.

93.   One man sat in a small lawn chair in the middle of the street in front of the Gonzalez home.

94.   One man sat with his head in his hands, crying.

95.   Older men sit on street corners and question strangers as to who they are and what they want.

96.   On a recent evening, eight men sat around in a stammtisch, playing cards and drinking.

97.   On a recent evening, two well-dressed men sat a few stools apart in silence.

98.   One stop was beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, where half-frozen men sat as still as death amid piles of tattered clothing, worn-out blankets and debris.

99.   Once in a while, looking over to check out the table where the retired men sat.

100.   Outside the Holyland gift shop, full of religious bric-a-brac, two men endlessly sit and smoke as a rack of postcards turns squeakily in the breeze.