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The Encounter with a Homeless Person that Shook Me to My Core
We are born knowing compassion, but somewhere along the way we forget it makes us human
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I’m part of a large group of good friends who meet for dinner every month or so; as there’s so many of us it’s sometimes a bit of a job finding a day when everyone’s free, and that’s before the headache of finding a place everyone actually wants to eat.
I’m happy to go with the flow, but my personal preference seems to gravitate toward the simpler end of the spectrum. Give me a burger, a cheeky Nando’s or a pizza anyday and I’m happy.
The dinner was organised for a Wednesday at a fancy-ish restaurant in Central London. The type of place where prices are around 1.5 times higher and portion sizes around 30% less than average.
I’ll happily eat at these places if it makes it easier for the group, but truth be told, due in part to my monstrous appetite, I don’t much enjoy them. With a couple of exceptions, I rarely find the food to be much better than standard and usually the portion sizes aren’t big enough to satisfy me.
