“Between Ryders Alley and Cliff Street, sometimes there is a man in soiled sweatpants and a hoodie, in the heat of the day, not asking like others for a single dollar. He just sits on the sidewalk with his back arched against the building and neck limp. People pass him, and it always makes me sad. I’m one of them,” said Max without eye contact.
“Thanks for sharing,” Mr. P. said. He had sensed the silence starting to overwhelm the nervous systems of the still impressionable freshmen. “Yes, Sara?”
“Do you mind clarifying what it is that makes you sad, since you used the common pronoun? What exactly is the ‘it,’ I mean? Are you implying that people should be stopping?”