a drizzly february morning.
1st task of the day: purchase snacks for a meeting in sf.
i'm early, and trader joe's is still closed.
alone, i wait, earbuds in, somewhat dazed,
not fully recovered from the spell of sickness
that kept me in bed for half the day before.
8:50am
a man rides up on his bicycle and waits too.
we begin with pleasant small talk,
but the conversation quickly turns
and he starts to vent his
frustrations and anger with
unemployment, hunger, homelessness, authority, life...
our discussion never actually ends.
i don't quite have the right words to say in response.
he trails off and shuffles among the crowd
that is making their way through the store's open doors.
ash wednesday mass that night
i say a little prayer for him.
for better days.
for his peace of mind.
i forget about all this until...
last night.
it's almost 10 o'clock
and i'm just leaving good friday service.
the next bus is in 27 min
so i opt for a less direct route home.
sneaks, jeans, backpack with
hood up over my head
to thwart an unexpected chilly breeze.
i feel like a student again
walking past people's park
reminded of this campus's strange coexistence of
privilege and poverty.
hello. you were sitting next to me at church, right?yes, i was.in half a block we exchange niceties & names:
the typical
how do you do?
where are you from?
where are you headed?
then the inevitable
(and these days often touchy)
what do you do?
i give my standard answer
then hesitantly ask him in return.
i'm not into anything at the moment,
but things are just starting to come together for me.
i was homeless for a few years,
but now i have a roof over my head.we come to the corner of telegraph & dwight
where we are to part ways.
i'm headed in this direction now.
i'm glad to hear that things
are starting to look up for you.
thank you.
what was your name again?
camille.
in case i don't see you,
happy easter.
i extend my arm out for a handshake
and receive
a hug.
