8. Money

There are many ways of getting money out here. I mean aside from having a job or someone to bum off who has a job. I'm not counting criminals, or rich peoples' kids, or people who are temporarily without funds and it really is temporary. Some of us get money from the government due to being certifiably something. The vets often get government pension money. The tidy guys like Mike and Jack can get day labor. Marianne used to clean houses until she got a cart. I understand how that is because you can't leave your cart.

Panhandling is the main way we get money. Some people can't walk by a "needy person" without handing over some cash. This is a mystery to me, but I am happy to take it. They feel good, I feel good. Fair deal. Not really, but it's part of the code.

For most of us, it's true that we are somewhat broken and cannot (or will not) muster what it takes to hold a job, or have a home or family. Chuck claims he loves living on the street, free as a bird, no responsibilities. Tell me that one when it's January and 20 degrees. We're not a merry tribe and we don't want a hug. We all have dark stories and I'm not telling mine.

"Wow, that was the best!" Cal left half his fries so I ate them. McDonald's fries are tres gourmet. "My dad gave me the money."

Ah.

"So how's your dad?"

"Balder. I had to go to church."

"Your dad paid you to go to church?"

"Sort of."

"So how's God?" We smile.

"God is fine, hunky dory." Cal draws a big smiley face in his notebook, labels it GOD. Then he draws a big frowny face and labels it MOM.

"Your mom was there?"

"Yep."

"Bait and switch?"

"Yep." Cal starts scribbling intently.

I suddenly have an urgent need to know where my cart is. It's practically next to me on the other side of the window, but I am looking everywhere but there and getting panicked. Cal looks up and points his pencil at the cart (he knows me pretty well). I feel silly when I see how close it is. Sometimes I get these scared feelings over nothing. Once I tried to explain how it feels, but it came out sounding like a big mess, which it is as far as I'm concerned.

Cal puts the trash in the trash and wipes off the table with his sleeve.

"Were you a waiter?" I ask.

"Yep."

We exit McDonald's, pick up my cart, and head on down the avenue. All things considered, a fine day.

5/6/07