we're not afraid of making caves or finding food for him to eat, we're terrified of one another and terrified of what that means

yesterday a homeless man came into the metro and then he said as usual, that he had no home and no money and nowhere to go, and that we could help him, and that he wished us good luck. He was wearing brand new ripcurl shoes. Then i went to an outside party in pont-neuf all alone, smoking to seem busy, met a writer. We talked for twenty minutes and i went back home. I dreamed of my own death in a wood, stabbed and burned, i woke up terrified and then realized that i had forgotten to take my pillow. I thought of this man saying good luck and the words "good luck" made me cry a little bit. I don't get what is happening. I'm scared and have nothing good to think of before i fall asleep.