Philadelphia, the place that wants you to go eat yourself to death

Walking down Market Street by the Gallery (which is being torn down and replaced with–torn-down city blocks of nothing?), I saw a large doughy woman in a wheelchair holding a paper McDonald’s coffee cup asking, “Spare some change so I can get something to eat?”

She looked directly at a smaller graying woman holding the hand of her five(?)-year old cornrowed granddaughter, upon which the grandmother stared back at her and said (still holding her granddaughter’s hand), “You don’t look like you missin’ no meals, you look bigger’n’a truck to me!”

All I could think to say was “Jesus Christ!” (They may have heard me because I think I actually said, “Jesus Christ!”)

I walked back the same way a half hour later and passed the woman in the wheelchair headed the opposite direction, pushed by a municipal worker in a yellow and orange vest, as she stared at the change in her McDonald’s cup and said dejectedly (not necessarily to him), “I got fifty cent’!”

There is much of Market Street that I can’t walk down without wishing a meteor would strike Earth and replace humanity with something more able to display humanity.