Dear Anonymous,
He asks me again and again if everything is alright with me and if he can help at all with ANYTHING and he assures me he is at my back. Street brothers. Street sons. I know he struggles. I know he has shown me a bit of his big heart. And we stand out here bruised and tattered with coffee cards and socks.
There's a request for tents if anyone has simple and smaller tents they'd like to move on.
A woman comes by and takes some shoes, a pair of pants, a coffee card and blows her cigarette smoke directly into my face. Half affectionately. Half diabolically.
I'll take that as a win.
They all arrive and then disperse. Some gulping water. Some gulping coffeecake. Heading for a beer. A cigarette. Heading for a coffee. Heading to do some dumpster diving. Some dealing. Some whatever. Many will make sure they say goodbye. Some will send their 'Love yous'. Some will be unable to lift their eyes...those bricks holding a secret they search them for.