It's a small stand - one large table full of political bumper stickers, jacket patches & buttons. He wears black fingerless gloves no matter the time of year and he sits on an upturned milk crate. When he folds up at night, every thing will fit on one little luggage carrier.
The cloth draped over the table reaches all the way to the ground and it covers the fact that a large backpack and sleeping bag roll is under there.
He always has a smile and a big hug for me when I come strolling by. Always something to say about how good I look.
A couple of times I was out late on the avenue looking for a place to sleep and he's offered to let me come along with him. He knows a couple of decent places to roll out and never gets hinky with me. He's a good cuddler without taking liberties.
He's the one who showed me that cardboard makes the best insulation between a sleeping bag and the hard concrete. He always has an extra blanket to lend.
I heard from a friend recently that he died - another one lost to Hepatitis C. That's a long painful undignified death.
[Hepatitis C] [homeless]
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2 comments:
You write well, and I smile---I know those people, feelings---the marina, the freeway overpass, the park breakfasts, the re-arranging flowers, sounds just like being homeless in Long Beach. Even tried it for two weeks in Phoenix, but stayed in a dive motel, that time. The difference is I didn't use drugs, cigarettes & coffee, tho'. "kind" I write, but not, how they always offer a blanket & food
(visiting from Technorati "homeless" tag)
Thanks for sharing. Really.
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