bbkaro

I saw Michael Thursday afternoon. I was going to buy tickets at the Music Hall, and I went looking for him around where he said I could always find him. I saw him, but he didnt see me.

Truth is, I barely recognized him. And when I say he didnt see me, I mean he couldnt see. Couldnt stand. Couldnt do anything more than shake uncontrollably on the corner of Larkin and Ellis. I know it was him because he was wearing the Sharks starter he had on when we first met. And it looked like him. Although something had happened to his glasses.

I wasnt expecting him to remember me. Thats not the point. And I wasnt expecting a homeless man three steps from reclaiming his life, appreciative of the Citys vaunted efforts at curtailing the homeless problem.

But I somewhat naively expected to find something of the man who counted his few remaining blessings every day. The man who pointed at the trees, grinning, and told me to take his picture in their shade. Because that would be a pretty shot. Instead, he told me to fuck off and leave him alone. Or Give me a fucking dollar you wanna do something!

For the last week the Chronicle has been running stories on how other major U.S. cities have dealt with their homeless issues, comparing each program to what was described, in the series headline no less, as The Shame of San Francisco. SF Weekly ran a cover story on how Mayor Newsom plans on dealing with the chronic homeless population. These people know what I know.

Absolutely nothing.

The Giants are a game and a half out of first and I dont even give a shit.

I dont know what to think anymore.

My head hurts.