Portland in town
Gray day. Red and I took a short walk up the hill. We approached, nervously I admit, then passed 5-6 overly happy—high?—probably homeless people, male and females, 20s-30s, at the corner, just as they left a bearded older looking compadre sitting on a carton playing flicking a lighter to a small piece of diamond shaped mesh. We all exchanged cordial greetings.
A few feet around the corner a man in a black ski cap was folded on a single stoop step, bare forearm and spread open tanne hand holding/protecting all his worldly possessions, a blue and black backpack. Sleeping hard in an apparently habitual posture and place at 2:30 pm in a usually frigid city. Of course I felt pity. As I walked past him, I had the urge to dig out a dollar, no, make it a fiver, and slip it under his open hand, or, safer? , his backpack. But no. Might not be safe for me on my wobbly pins with little leashed Red to encounter God knows what. And a beautiful well dressed young woman passed us just at that moment with a small hello to let us know she was there, as we were unaware of her before. So Red and I walked on, wondering at the variety of folk on God’s planet.
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