Outside, it’s cold and dark. Inside my warm, well-lit house, I’m finishing dinner. Being a man who takes so much for granted, I take this for granted, too. What blinds me to my great good fortune? Food and shelter, food and shelter: humanity’s mantra for millennia, our unceasing prayer. How many of us have wandered homeless and hungry? How many of us are too weak to stand right now? In my mind’s eye, I see a man no different than I — except he’s gaunt, starving, no roof over his balding head. I’m here. He’s there. But because he’s not here, he’s less real to me than my cats, less real to me than the bills I paid last night. I’m eating. He’s hungry. I’m still eating. I’ve eaten everything on my plate, and I’m reaching for more. The food is so delicious that I just can’t stop myself. More. Give me more.