2 Bad Things I Noticed Yesterday

Sometimes I think people wouldn't want to hear about this stuff. But then I realized it's good to expand. Is it good to expand? Maybe not always. But now, yes.

Of course, this all takes place on the bus on the way home yesterday.

1. ONE LEGGED LOOKOUT. Market Street is the big avenue leading to downtown. In Detroit, we would call it Woodward. It even runs at an angle rather than North/South or East/West just like home. When taking a bus downtown, probably half the lines will drop you off and pick you up on Market St, as does mine.

If you've been to San Francisco, you'll know we have an inexcusably large homeless population. And I'd say the majority of them are drug addicts for one reason or another. Some became homeless because of their habit. Some are self medicating a serious mental illness. I was friends with a woman who once watched a schizophrenic homeless man cross the street just to punch her in the face. We're talking seriously mentally ill people. Thank you Reagan.

Between 8th St and 5th St, you've got a LOT of action going on. Sometimes you look out the bus window, and it's like a scene from a movie. Devastated homeless, toothless addicts limping along, absolutely reeking of their own personal brand of desperation. It disgusts me at the same time I want to scoop up all these people to give them a bath for their insides as well as their outsides. I have friends who are outreach workers. I couldn't do what they do. I couldn't see this all day long without it seriously warping my head.

The first time I ever saw someone smoke crack was on Market St. For some reason many homeless feel free to do their thing on this major thoroughfare. There are little alcoves and entry ways in which to shove oneself in order to have a moment with their god, but none disguise what's going on.

Yesterday, from the bus, I saw a man do just that. Shoved face first into what I thought was barely an indent along an empty building front, I could see him hunching over a pipe with a lighter. A few feet away, I saw a woman on crutches with heavy baggy army clothes, a short punk hairstyle I associate with my childhood, peircings, and 1 and 1/2 legs. She was clearly associated with the crackie in the corner. She was clearly his lookout. Scanning up and down the street for a cop or an uptight citizen? She is one of many young people in this city I've seen with an amputated appendage. I remember explaining to my last boyfriend why they didn't have a full set of arms and legs. From my five years as a needle exchange volunteer, I knew these kids would shoot up using a dirty, barbed, old needle, and then get an infection. They'd let that infection go so long, their arm or leg (mostly legs for some reason) would become gangrenous. They'd show up at SF General to have the infection removed. That meant either an area of their body looked like someone took an ice cream scoop to the flesh beneath the skin, or they'd lost part of their arm or leg. And they hate those doctors over at SF General. They'd call them butchers when I'd ask about their freshly bandaged wounds. It seemed more like a natural resentment toward someone who took a peice of them. No matter how poisonous that peice may be.

This poor lost soul, balancing on her crutches with her 1 1/2 legs, her tough girl look, and whatever could be left of her dignity, watching out for her friend, helping him ride down the same path of self destruction.

2. SUN GAZER. Not 3 minutes later, the bus turned off onto McAllister St. That particular area has probably the worst and oldest homeless or semi homeless population. People living among rats and cockroaches, eating their meals out of corner stores, trying to stay as drunk as possible as long as possible. Fighting. Everyone is always fighting. Hurriedly frenetically crookedly striding from one corner to the next. Drug addicts have a particular sideways walk. One hip inevitably turns more forward than the other, while their arms swing wide and stiff. Especially meth addicts. More in women. And in a land where people stay young unnaturally long, there is nothing but age and exhaustion on these faces. No hope.

There is a residence hotel just off of Market, on McAllister, and when I pass on the bus, I take note of the people congregating in its lobby and on its sidewalk. Mostly, they're men, older black men, and maybe a bit more calm. They almost seem like they're in recovery. I never see a woman amongst them. Maybe this is a step up from most of the places in the neighborhood. But yesterday, there was a white man in his 30s standing outside the hotel. I looked into his upturned face, and noticed his eyes almost seemed to be in convulsions. Flittering but very hard. He was alone, and no one was taking any notice of him.

It was then I understood the angle of his face. He was staring directly at the sun. Unmoving. Eyelids convulsing. I could feel panick rising in my chest like a thermometer. He's going to burn out his eyes, I thought. For some reason, I looked around at the other people on the bus to see if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. They were not. I felt as if I should yell out the bus window. "Stop staring at the sun God damnit!" Seriously. I didn't. WHY NOT? I can only assume it was my overdeveloped sense of propriety. I should have yelled. I should have yelled because no one else was yelling at that stupid fuck. What the hell was he on? Please tell me it wasn't some pathetic 60s throwback, and he was on acid. As if some other explanation would have been better. My god, just standing there in his dockers and sweater and clean shaved face. He looked completely normal in presentation. I watched so many people walk by him. Did they not notice? Or did they notice and understand he was not to be helped? Probably 1/2 a dozen people walked by while the bus was stopped in front of the hotel.

And then the bus jerked forward.

I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about him. I should have yelled. The self within myself was chiding me, I should have yelled.