Last night I was on the L train on my way home from work when, out of the corner of my eye, I spied a young girl with a swollen belly step into the crowded train. The stylish young professionals diverted their eyes as she squeezed into the crowd. I was just starting to get really pissed that no one was offering her their seat when a hulking man covered in full-body tattoos stood up. As I was watching this scenario unfold from the other side of the car, I couldn't help but think that you really can't judge a book by its cover. That's the lesson I learned when I was living in Bed-Stuy. Often, the shadowy characters on the corner were the same kids who'd help you when you grocery bag busted on the street. As tempting it is to instantly come to a conclusion based on their appearance, I have to remind myself that there really is more to it than that.
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