As I was walking through Cambridge, my eye spied a homeless person. Immediately the guilt started to seep in. Constantly, without fail, I would pass by, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the suddenly interesting ground. Ignoring. The leigons of ghosts that sit still in the city. This particular homeless person propped up against a well-worn wall. Faded green jacket. Concrete grey stubble. Weather-worn, life-scarred face. It seemed he had two possesions. A harmonica and a child's teddy bear. After returning home, I sat and wept.