Anthony Lewis, 62, hunkered down in a tattered blue canvas camping chair on the sidewalk across from the Chrysler Building as a frigid wind raced down 42nd Street.
He’d just been given a pair of gloves by a kind passerby. But the parka he wore and the thin beige blanket wrapped around him couldn’t keep Friday’s early spring cold from chilling his bones.
“Seven months I’m out here,” Lewis said. “It’s crazy. It’s hard.”
He’s a diabetic who must give himself insulin shots. Between the disease and the streets, his feet are a constant source of pain. On his roller cart with all his worldly possessions, he’d attached a worn Santa Claus doll and a cardboard sign declaring,