Posted on May 14, 2020 by Greg B. Smith in The City The City, By Greg B. Smith It’s around 2 o’clock in the morning and the beige marble lobby of the 30th Street Men’s Shelter in Manhattan has filled up with more than 20 homeless men just expelled from the city’s subways, trying to get some sleep. They are, to put it charitably, on top of one another. One man lies flat on his back on the marble. Seven are curled in fetal position all around one another like petals on a flower, close enough to inhale each other’s breath. One has commandeered two seats for a bed, while another man sits upright nearby, clutching his backpack.
