I cried because I had no shoes...

... until I met a man who had no feet.

Working in a hospital in the middle of Los Angeles with Westwood around, Beverly Hills around the corner, and Hollywood a few miles away is like swimming in a balsamic vinaigrette. With the occasional night of extravagance and superficiality it's quite jarring to come back to a place where your business is the basics of the human condition. We advance diets so that people may eat, ambulate them so they may poop, and operate on them so that they may live. I won't lie, but the dichotomy is somewhat refreshing. I'm not sure if I could handle a residency where the outside world was as bleak or dark as the everyday occurrences of the hospital I worked in.

Yesterday while walking the halls I heard a clicking like the sound of horseshoes but on a smaller, two limbed beast of some sort. Tap shoes? No... the clicks were in unison. I then saw a man with no legs basically vaulting himself forward while holding what looked like metal handles - ] [ - one in each hand, onto his remaining stump cut off just below the waist, as if his arms were crutches and his waist his only good leg. I was in a hurry, and sheepishly had to pass him as I sped on by. "Excuse me," I whispered as I overtook him. I mean really, what do you say in that kind of situation? Interestingly, I saw him the next morning in the room of a patient who was also plegic below the waist. I really lack the ability right now to articulate why I'm bringing this up... but questions this raises: Birds of a feather or just featherless birds? Situations in life or life situation that bind us? Do you feel guilty about your 50 pairs of shoes now?