Really wish I could be more regular with these postings, but bear with me. This time I thought we'd try something a little different in terms of presentation. Up to now I've been writing in the first person. This time I thought I'd try writing from the more traditional third person POV to see how it goes. If you're game to partake of this experiment in storytelling, keep reading and keep an open mind.
Jim lugged his black pull-along travel case up the littered sidewalks avoiding various drunks and homeless who staggered toward him on their way to some appointment. Although that was being kind; most of the homeless people he saw had blank faces and seemed to walk more from habit than any need to be in a particular place at a particular time. Lifting his case over the body of a vagrant who was kneeling and puking in the sidewalk, Jim finally saw the landmark that was his destination: The Salvation Army Homeless Shelter.
Walking up a ramp, he passes through a body length turnstile and was confronted by a black clad security guard who held a black and yellow wand to the newcomer's face.
"Blow into it," said the guard.
Jim did as was asked. The guard checked a light on the wand and motioned to move on. Jim entered a courtyard filled with derelicts and their various forms of luggage and or packing materials. Many of them looked as if their life's possessions were stacked haphazardly into luggage carriers, or tied together with string or masking tape. The whole courtyard was filled with a low-hanging grayish haze of cigarette smoke thick enough to make out hero choke. The rank odor hastened his entrance into what he would later know as the DRC (Day Resource Center).
Inside this large, plain room were more homeless men, huddled along long rows of collapsible benches. Homeless women had a separate area to relax in. Many of the men sat at the tables playing cards, reading, playing chess, or debating politics and sports. Others sat alone, some mumbling incoherently to themselves. There were some guys who sat down but their upper body lay sprawled over the tabletop; you could hear them lightly snoring although signs were posted that forbid sleeping. Some men sat in plastic chairs staring vacantly into space. The stark fluorescent lighting tended to highlight the gaunt, angular features many of the occupants possessed. The lighting also served as a harsh reminder of the cold reality of his situation, thought Jim as he walked toward an office window. A year ago he would have been making fun of people like these.
Smoking was prohibited in the DRC, although the stink of tobacco still fumed off the clothing of many of the occupants. Jim didn't doubt that the tobacco funk had bonded with their bodies at the molecular level. At the window was a chunky guy with a name badge who informed Jim that beds were available for $8 a night beginning at 5pm. It was currently just past noon. He was advised to come back and inquire about any available beds because they went quickly. If a bed wasn't paid for at five, it went back up for sale to the next customer.
That was disheartening news because Jim had assumed he could get a bed right then and there. Now he had to wait another five hours or so until he could rest. He re-entered the courtyard and sat for several minutes, (holding his breath) trying to assess the situation. He had no where to go, and couldn't call any friends for help. He could couldn't stand the shame of admitted what had happened and didn't want to offer any explanations that would no doubt be met with a mix of pity and understanding. Worse, he couldn't harbor the thought that he might ask one of his friends for a place to stay only to be turned down. Why would they want to take in a homeless person, regardless of who it was? No, it looked as if he would have to maintain his composure for at least the next five hours and pray he didn't fall asleep on a street corner in the meantime.
On his way out, Jim was approached by a guy from the crowd who advised him to check out Catholic Charities, who also offered beds on a nightly basis, for free. He decided to head over there, backtracking his steps down Owens. He turned on Main and arrived at Foremaster where he had earlier seen a line of homeless guys sitting or laying on the curb. From taling with some of them Jim found that he would have to line up at five and wait until six when officials would come out to make beds available. Priority was given to the elderly and disabled, then overall age of those requesting beds and services. At 6am, the men were required to leave and once more hit the streets with their meagre possessions.
Although free, there was a limit of the 200 men for any given night. That gave Jim pause to think: Should he take the risk of being one of the first 200 guys selected? Close to 12:30, he could see that lines were already forming. It wouldn't be difficult to hit 200 by five, even four o'clock. At least with Salvation Army, if you paid for the bed it was yours until you left. Plus, the had a locker to store your stuff, and Jim was wearing down from walking with the added weight of the luggage. So, he would give Salvation Army a chance. With that decided he had to face another dilemma: What to do for the next four and a half hours. This wasn't like killing time leisurely browsing in a mall ...
So, there you go with our little experiment. Did it rock? Did it suck -- or worse? Your humbler narrator is always interested in feedback, so let me know what you think. Will pick up this thread again as soon as possible or until another computer comes free at the library -- whichever comes first!
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