In which I share the story I was given today.

1.
I went to a volunteer meeting at Helpline this afternoon. After it was over, I rushed across town for my CCNA lab, but class was canceled so I went and got my eyebrows waxed instead. Then I got invited to a jam session, for which I was going to be picked up at four. It was just past two. I decided to stop in at the P&E and say hi to everybody because I haven’t been there in weeks.

I told Susan, the bartender, what I’d learned today, which is that teens are the fastest-growing segment of our homeless population, and that we don’t have a teen shelter. Kids over a certain age aren’t allowed in the women’s shelter, and the men’s shelter and the motels won’t take kids under 18 for liability reasons. When it’s twenty degrees out, it’s important to be inside for the night, but there’s nowhere for them to go.

2.
There was an ostentatious display of wealth on TV in the form of a vehicle. I said, “That fucking thing. Look at that! That’s disgusting. That money could feed a lot of people.”

A guy down the bar said, “I watched that antique car auction the other day. Where they throw money around like it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, where they spend seventy million dollars on a car they’ll only drive twenty miles a year?” I asked.

“That’s the one.”

“Having a classic car you restored yourself, that you love and drive, and that gives you joy: that’s one thing,” I said. “Having a twelve-car garage stuffed with exorbitantly expensive cars you can’t possibly utilize, just to prove to the world how rich you are while people starve: that’s fucking disgusting. I don’t care who you are! The distribution of wealth on this planet is fucked up.”

3.
“I heard you talking earlier,” he said. “About the shelter? Well, I was homeless once. Well, a couple of times, really, but it was voluntary.

“I was living in Seattle at the time. I was staying in a flop house. I was walking around by myself, early one morning. It was December. It was cold outside.

“There was this bridge, you know, with a concrete staircase coming down? It was in a shape, you know, it made a little sheltered place underneath. There were these homeless guys in there.

“Some of them had coats, but one guy, he had on a summer jacket. It was winter. He didn’t have any shoes or socks.

“Five of them were there that morning, sitting in a circle. And do you know what they were doing?” he asked me.

I shook my head.

“They were holding hands and praying,” he said. “Homeless people. People with nothing at all. They would have to sleep outside that night, because they slept inside the night before and they wouldn’t be allowed back in for another week.

“I’ll tell you what they were doing,” he said. “I know exactly what they were doing. Those guys… those homeless guys, praying… those guys were holding the world together.”

4.
I nodded, hand on my heart. “So they were saints,” I said. “Saints don’t care about possessions, so you’d find them among the homeless.”

“Funny,” he said, “I’ve never told anyone that story before. I guess… I guess I just figured for some reason that you’d get it.”