"It was late at
night, and a fine
rain was swirling softly down, causing the
pavements to
glisten with hue of steel and blue and
yellow in the rays of the innumerable
lights. A youth was trudging
slowly, without enthusiasm, with his
hands buried deep in his
trousers pockets, toward the
downtown places where beds can be hired for coppers. He was clothed in an aged and tattered suit, and his derby was a marvel of
dust-covered crown and
torn rim. He was going forth to eat as the
wanderer may eat, and
sleep as the
homeless sleep. By the time he had reached City Hall
Park he was so completely plastered with yells of "bum" and "
hobo," and with various unholy epithets that small boys had applied to him at intervals, that he was in a state of the most profound dejection. The sifting
rain saturated the
old velvet collar of his
overcoat, and as the wet cloth pressed against his neck, he felt that there no longer could be
pleasure in
life. He looked about him searching for an
outcast of highest degree that they two might share miseries, but the lights threw a quivering glare over rows and
circles of deserted benches that glistened damply, showing patches of
wet sod behind them. It seemed that their usual
freights had fled on this night to better things. There were only squads of well-dressed Brooklyn people who
swarmed toward the
bridge."
Stephen Crane, "
Experiment in Misery,"
New York Press, April 22, 1894.
