In the middle of summer, the city pretends to empty out. I get to the bakery before seven. At one corner of the sidewalk, in a doorway, lies a pile of grey clothing, and underneath it, a person. He doesn't move, but I know him. Sometimes he holds the door for people, surrounded by the smell of croissants. He usually sleeps curled up against a wall before the shop opens. Is he okay? I didn't have time to check — it was over 35 degrees yesterday, and today too.
Berlin in particular, because of the urban heat island effect, runs up to 3°C hotter than the surrounding region, especially at night. This sustained heat is especially dangerous for older people, pregnant people, people with pre-existing conditions, and people living in difficult circumstances.
I once argued about this with a friend from school. He refused to give homeless people money, arguing that the gesture would only worsen their precarious situation. Those words stuck with me all day. This week I saw the man from the doorway again: tired, but alive. I was relieved, even though I hadn't done anything the time before.
This short story doesn't have a moral. It just shows that we have to look out for each other and do our best to help however we can. I'm ashamed I didn't do anything, and I know that shame is justified. Official help is minimal, so it's on us to help as best we can.
Courier Huile Smith #38 belongs to CROW Courier, Berlin's car-free courier service, which also fosters a cooperative way of working.