Nonsense

The doors are unlocked and it doesn’t occur to me to be mistaken for a ride share service until the back door opens and a man asks if I’m Javier. Momentarily surprised I shake my head no at about the time he seems to realize I can’t possibly be Javier unless the app somehow converted his skin color, hair and assumed gender amongst other things within the last five minutes.

He shuts the door and I lock them reminding myself it’s not Little House on the Prairie. I’m dropping something off in the middle of a substantial homeless community and was distracted by a surprising number of luxury cars pulling in and away from various tents and street corners every few minutes. Surely I’m in a high-traffic drug area and am wondering how it is some addicts manage to remain rich as others remain homeless.

It’s never clean here and most everyone walking down the street is talking to themselves. I don’t know which parts of this I’m responsible for cause it feels like we’re all responsible in one way or another. How much is the result of trauma or mental illness and why are so many answers packaged as bandaids?

I don’t forget that I’m replaceable or that where I am now is temporary. I do still fear being homeless again, especially on days when the awareness of one person’s life in relation to the whole is clarified in the nuances existing between silence and death.

I hope everyone understands the preciousness of their heart and value of their soul before their date is called.