Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Here, now.

I tend to pay attention to the people in the building on the other side of the parking lot at Public Broadcasting, where I work at on the weekends. In the past, the place has had a number of interesting residents --the dude who kept the curtains open, never left his apartment and watched classic television shows in his underwear; the ex-con truck driver who let the hooker into his heart and into his life; the middle-aged lesbians who stood by the window and felt each other up; the probably younger lesbians who tossed a planter and maybe a television onto the hood of my piece of shit car.

I love that place.

But lately, I've been noticing a guy sleeping next to the building across the street, over next to the bakery. I see him around town, collecting cigarette butts to smoke whatever is left, but quietly apart from the rest of Charleston's ever-growing homeless population.

I've been meaning to talk to him, see why he's staying away from the shelters. The neighborhood is getting worse. You get the feeling that people are a lot more desperate. Muggings are more noticeable. Goblinfolk are lurking in the shadows and when midnight rolls around, you tend to wonder who is lurking in the parking lot.

Anyway, I'm worrying about the guy --think global, act local, I guess. Somebody needs to watch after him. Since no one else appears to be around, I guess it should be me.

So, that's my plan for the weekend: talk to the guy. See what I can do.

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