His only possessions were what he managed to cram into his backpack. I’d see him sometimes, sitting on the grass out in front of the Kum and Go with a six pack of the cheapest beer he could find. He always waved and had a giant smile. Funny thing about him, he never panhandled like the rest of the homeless (or the pretend homeless) did. He didn’t carry the stench of alcohol around with him either. I always thought of him as more of a traveling Monk than homeless. Until he shot our neighbor’s dog for knocking over his beer.
Tag: homeless
I’m not a bad person
I’m stuck at the red light on 4th street across from the shelter. I try not to stare at the men shivering in the afternoon rain. Instead, I think about my wife at home with the fragrance of happiness in her hair, my comfortable chair and how good my bed will feel even though its mattress refuses to grow accustomed to my body’s shape. I don’t want to think about these old men and their soup kitchen dinner, or the newspaper blankets that they’ll use to shelter them from the cold. I only think…I wish this damn light would change.
Jerry Brotherton 