The next morning the guys were there again. I realized some of them slept in a nearby alley, while others had just stepped out of the shelter for an early-morning smoke. I looked at the sign above a small, battered door in an equally battered building: “Sunday Breakfast Rescue Mission.” Did they live there? I waved and said hello. This time several said hello back. One called out, “Don’t you ever stop running?” The next day was the same, and the day after that. The mission was about a quarter mile from my condo. By the time I reached it I would just be warming up and the guys would just be waking up themselves. They’d be huddled in circles, talking quietly, rubbing their eyes. I started slowing down when I saw them, lingering for mini-conversations. “How far you running today?” one asked.

第二天早上，这些家伙们又在那里了。我意识到他们其中的几个可能就在附近的小巷里睡觉，而另外的一些则是刚刚从他们的遮蔽所出来吸几口烟。我看到一个破败的房子，在它那损坏的门上挂了一个牌子：礼拜日早餐救助点。他们就在这里住吗？我向他们挥手打招呼，这一次，其中几个也向我问了好，其中一个喊道：“你总是这样一直跑吗？”接下来的一天也一样，以后仍然是这样。这个救助点大约离我的公寓四分之一哩远。我跑到那里的时候正好暖起了身，而他们也刚刚醒来，围在一起，揉着眼睛小声说话。我看到他们时就放慢速度，希望能和他们说上几句。“你今天跑了多远了？”其中一个问道。