How SAD when the poor steal from the poor. . . This is reblogged from my son’s travel journal. He has a gift of verbosity and gift of music, an unusual and unconventional young man in his thinking about people, life and the world and God. I hope some of you find his writing style refreshing!
Seems this was our Piikoi/Beretania intersection, our inescapable transition to go home. Crossing the street four or five times yesterday, the last left an indelible mark. As fractions are slowly written on a chalkboard: ¼ ½ ¾ then 1, time pronounced its increments as shock unfolded. In segments of a single second I was mortified and in disbelief. Suddenly a crime witness, I had a compulsion to fix the wrongness that enveloped two adults with their dogs huddled together, sleeping on the sidewalk.
> Lying on cardboard, under an eve, a man’s neck drooped forward with his companion woman’s head on his lap. Their two huskies provided both heat and comfort. Backpacks, a small cart, a water/food dish for the dogs, and a donation bowl bordered the living space and it seemed that no one and nothing would disturb their deep rest. All were in the deepest of sleep, impervious…
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