Dear Anonymous,
This is Mike. This morning he had this smile. Always good to see him sporting a smile. The alternative can be as grim as this is uplifting.
Lots of water handed out. Appreciation for a coffee card. A pair of socks. Some looking quite content and pleased. Some in pretty rough shape. No one wearing masks anymore. Not even an effort. Except for those using the bus. They tell me they can't ride without one.
There is one. One who shys away from any group at all though on his own speaks as a gentleman. Says he's working on getting into rehab. Says he hopes it's next week. He says ' I'm killin' myself out here.' And he looks worse each day. Scars across his face where he has fallen. He blames his bum knee but he and I and his street pals all know it's more that that. I believe he has good shelter overnight. But he roams from early morning. Leaning on his cane. The lines on his face deepening each day. And the sticky strands of whatever demons follow him are thick in the air as he turns the corner.