Dear Anonymous,
When I first arrive on the street this morning it feels like it does when I enter a room where someone has had an argument. I can feel the tension. Something off kilter. I will leave not knowing the content but cannot shake the feeling.
First week of the month. Some that receive checks disappear temporarily. Get the refuge of a hotel room for a night or two. Perhaps, maybe, at times feed their addiction du jour. Others this morning are struggling with the aftermath of yesterdays drinking. They are kind but in pain.
Some wait for the coffeecake. I never have enough.
He has a mouthful in this image. Tells me he is looking at alternatives to the street and working on housing. He, like some others here, has a safe roof over his head at night presently, thank you Milestone Recovery.
Coffee cards and socks fly out of the car. A jacket here. A pair of boxers there. A hat.
Thank you's fly too, like spirited feathered things taking flight and then disappearing into the sky. Free at last.