March 27, 2008
"Everyday that I come home from Starbucks...(oh yeah, for those who don't know, I work two jobs. One at Gamestop, the other at Starbucks in LA. It's great. The people are great. Tips are great....I like this job.) I take the bus.
The bus rides down the unfortunate place known as skid row.
I look at the people that live there. I see the intricate houses that they build out of cardboard. Some rain resistant. Some with room for a chair or two. Some aerodynamically correct, so that the wind will sail right on over without blowing them down. I can only assume that years of living like that would give the intuition to build an even better house through trial and error.
I see the countless bags, and suitcases that come with each homeless person. I wonder to myself, what could be inside? What are all the things that they cling to. I immediately have my answer..
They don't have anything else, it's everything in that life that means something to them.
I'm sure they have clothes in there. Maybe even a few pillows, blankets, cans. But how about memorabilia? Maybe something from before.
You know what I mean by "before", right?
Then I ask myself, how did they get there? I think that I really ask that, because I want to avoid it.
How do you avoid that? If they knew how to avoid it, would it still have happened?
I do know that some of them are casualties of war. The people that ended up coming back from the wars with nothing but broken promises from the government. The others, I don't know? I don't think that they wanted that life..No one does. But what if they did?? What if they were just lazy? I can't even think of something like that. Why don't they have anything or anyone left? Where did they go wrong? Why did they stop caring? Did they stop caring?
What if they tried their damnest? What if they had a great job, but due to downsizing, they were let go? What if they lost their job, or lost their family? What if they did everything they possibly could but it wasn't enough?
I get sad at the sight, even at the thought.
Block after block the bus rolls by.
I hear scattered voices from the people on the bus making comments as to what they see. They don't see things the way I do. They don't question. They make their judgements.
But I know better...I know that there is a possibility that, if we on the bus make a bad decision, or have no one left..with no direction, no job and no plan, we could end up with our bags packed, and our wind/rain resistant cardboard house. Living on that row, while people watch us....On the ride home."
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