The rust was a dead meteor emblazoned into the sidewalk. It passed by and I kept walking. In God there was no evil. Now I look to my left and soles of feet peer back at me, their owner lying face down under rags. Those soles move infant-like back and forth, knowing not their creator. And yet I am supposed to rest assured that He knows us? There is a human being under these rags, face down on a public sidewalk at 3pm on a Wednesday. It doesn’t matter what that says about God—what’s worse is what that says about me.