The House Of The Fallen

And then the men in uniform came. Because they had to come and do the things they have to do. Actually, they were trying to be nice about this.

I just settled in by my reserved rear table at Wendy’s, as I did every day when the library closed either at six or nine in the evening. It was just past six, I already had my computer set up and waited for the boot when the alpha cop walked in. Casual, easy going. He was a normal looking guy with no threat in his posture. But I knew what was coming; it had to come one day and this was the day. I met him halfway in the room and called my line: “you are aware that you can’t do your business in the restaurant”? I was trying to save face. He knew. “So, would you mind coming outside for a moment, we’d like to talk to you” – said Alpha. I didn’t mind. And I knew that something has come to an end.

The Landslide

But this “me” is now a real-life victim of a disgusting, disturbing, unacceptable condition, homelessness. It’s so ugly, that most of us simply pretend that it either doesn’t exist, it’s fairly easy to solve and that the sufferer himself is to blame.  Brothers and sisters, be good and well-behaved to never encounter this “nonexistent” phenomenon (say, by some accident out of your control), because the reality will hit you like a ton of bricks. Like a landslide that covers you and you can’t ever get out from under it without an army of volunteers, bulldozers, medical personnel, a K-9 contingent and troops of paramilitary.

So, I fell from grace. My fall caused a landslide that covered me. And now all I can do is hope for that “army” of help to arrive. Otherwise I will remain buried under the ruble.