The Homeless Guy

      I live in an area where there is, unfortunately, a large    Concentration of homeless people. Sometimes, they all blend together in appearance and I, sadly, have gotten to a point where I walk my dog on the other side of the street or avoid making eye contact if we pass each other on the sidewalk. I’m not proud of this but I don’t have a lot of money or food either and I’m 64 and still work. I was diagnosed with breast cancer 6 years ago now. This might seem unrelated and random but it isn’t. Cancer and substance abuse issues are equal opportunity employers.

     Earlier today when my dog and I were on our first walk of the day, I noticed a homeless man behind me on the sidewalk. He was probably about my age or probably younger. Living on the streets ages people. He looked like he had all of his worldly possessions in a black plastic bag and he was dressed for winter. Today, here in Kansas City, it was so beautiful. The sun was out and the temperature got to the mid-70s. When you’re homeless, though, you have to be prepared and it is still early March. He had all of his belongings in a plastic bag but he had a can of beer which he had probably just purchased at the Shady Shell on 38th and Main. At the exact moment I noticed him (it seemed) he dropped his can of beer. In my mind, I saw the precious foam draining down the sidewalk which has a slight downward decline. I wondered how long he had to look for coins on the ground or panhandle for the precious foam now draining down the sidewalk. The subject of panhandling brings me to the subject of another homeless man I see frequently

     I think I became aware of him probably about a year ago. He’s tall and, when I 1st noticed him, he was heavyset. At first, he also looked too new to be homeless. I mentioned this guy in the previous entry. One day probably after I first became aware of him, I heard a person shouting out on the corner. Silly me. I thought somebody needed help. That, he needed help. I went outside and walked to where he was standing in the street and asked him if he needed help. He told me, “No. He just liked to stand in the street and holler”. Asking him if he needed help was really an amateur move on my part. In retrospect, I realized he was performing for the cars that had to stop at the corner before they turn right on Main. He was performing and acting crazy in the hopes that some of the drivers would feel sorry for him and give him a couple dollars to feed whatever habit he has or, maybe, he was hungry and feeling desperate. 

     Desperation drives people to do desperate things. Hunger is no joke. 

     I have a small dog. According to the vet, he should be smaller. We’re working on that. I am not his 1st owner. Whoever owned him first, named him after a character in “Breaking Bad” and, also, trained him very well. That and he, Heisenberg, is a very smart little dog. He is very housebroken almost too housebroken. This is a good thing overall. Once, recently, he had diarrhea. Most likely from eating something bad in a very stealthy manner on one of our walks. During his diarrhea episode, he started to wake me up in the middle of the night. He never does that. It wasn’t until the next morning, after I stepped in a pile of liquid dog poop by the front door, that I realized what he was trying to tell me in the middle of the night. Diarrhea, kind of like cancer and substance abuse issues, isn’t particular about who it affects. It, also, has no respect for man or beast. 

     So, this morning at about 3am when he jumped on my bed and came right up to my face (it’s handy to have insomnia at times), I got right on it. I didn’t want to but I got right up, put my glasses on and took him outside. I hadn’t seen him eat anything on our walks that day but he can be a sly one about tasty treats left on the sidewalk. Thank God I have been aware of every time he has tried to eat a carelessly tossed chicken bone. One of those would kill him. Considering how busy it is in this area during the day, it is deserted at 3am but it wasn’t this morning. 

     Across 38th Street to the north by the Shady Shell was the homeless guy who was standing on the corner a year ago performing for pennies. He has a couple different outfits he wears. Last night, it was his black zip-up hoodie and his cropped black leggings and black shoes. I have wondered if the leggings were women’s leggings. That’s what they look like to me. It was nice outside last night. In other words, perfect for a pair of cropped leg wear. 

     As I waited for Heisenberg to deal with his diarrhea, I saw Baby Huey jump and, as he did so, he yelled something unintelligible. There were, literally, no cars in the Shady Shell parking lot and no other people outside that I could see except for him and me. He was not aware of me. HB and I were behind him and behind our gated and locked yard. I guess he was rehearsing for when Shady Shell customers started showing up for their morning coffee or airplane bottles of liquor. I noticed him. He didn’t notice me but I noticed he was no longer Baby Huey aka heavyset. 

     Tonight, when Heisenberg and I were out on our evening walk, we were on the West side of Main. I saw this same guy walking on the east side and going by the open door of the local tavern. He was still wearing the same outfit but it is still exceptionally nice out tonight (as in 8pm and not 3am) and cropped leggings are totally appropriate evening wear. He is now a tall, thin man and, even though being thinner is healthier for people who are not unhoused, being thinner when you’re unhoused, probably means you’re hungry often. I wonder where his family is. Do they know how thin he is. Would they care? Does he have Tourette’s and has no family? 

     When I was taking a shower earlier, I happened to glance at the top of my left breast where is a faded but shiny 2” white line below my left collarbone. The scar is what’s left of the Chemo Port I had placed there. The scar is faded for sure but still quite noticeable. I survived Chemo for breast cancer. It left me with a visible scar and, when I looked at it, I thought there’s really not that much difference between me and that homeless guy who jumps and makes weird noises for sympathy money. Being homeless has scarred him too. He’s thin and hungry. I’m scarred by a surgical knife. He’s being scarred by something else. Chemo made me lose weight. Homelessness is scarring this strange man who jumps and grunts and he has lost weight too. We maybe are both in survival mode and are not so different after all even if I do have somewhere to live.