9. Libraries and Carts

"No c'mon, it's okay."

Tanya is hanging on my sleeve. I shake her off. Why she is bugging me about this I don't know. Why I am not just popping her one I don't know either.

"The bathroom is real nice, with warm water."

She means the library, which I have never set foot in. And now they are opening the doors. The sleeve tugging is getting annoying.

"Oh, goody, there's Frances!"

Oh goody? I forget this is how Tanya talks. Off she goes with her big sappy smile.

If people knew what she is really thinking, they wouldn't be smiling like this Frances the Librarian is. For a minute, they look like friends, Tanya and Frances, which they definitely are not. Tanya is one of the certifiable ones, but her muttering is not loud enough to scare people too much and get the cops called. She smiles all the time, which most of us don't, so that sometimes fools people. Golly, gee, whiz---they're waving at me. I secretly give Tanya the finger and ease back into the trees with my cart. Finally she's gone.

No, I don't wonder about the library, or what Tanya does in there all morning. I got other places to find hot water.

Tanya means well, but she doesn't understand about carts. You don't leave your cart. It's like Jumpy, Roscoe's dog. Roscoe never leaves Jumpy, ever, unless he passes out. Then I watch Jumpy, or Tony does, until Roscoe wakes up. The cart people and the dog people are natural allies. (No cats. Cats will not put up with this life for a minute.) The backpack people and the many pockets people go wherever they want, if they are tidy looking and relatively quiet. So do the runaway kids who don't have anything. The bag people are in the middle, depends on the nature of the bag and whether they act like they're going to steal something or not. Most of us make regular people suspicious even if we're not doing anything, so the big baggers are usually stuck more with us cart and dog people even though we got nothing in common with them.

Then there are the ones who have a place to go at night, maybe a condemned building, or a shed on some back property, or a forgotten garage. Like Robin Williams in that Fisher King movie. His place was a palace and so he was the king.

Did I dream this? Who the heck is Robin Williams?

What I do know is there's a risk to having a place. We'd rather crash in a place off the radar than in a shelter or a park bench or a car, so anyone that knows a place to sleep is quite popular. And we're not too good at keeping secrets. Pretty soon the place is overrun and all your stuff is gone, especially if the drinkers or dopers find it. Sometimes the cops find it. Sometimes the owners tear it down, or sell it. If you don't have a place, you don't have to worry about how miserable you would be if it was gone. On the good side, you wouldn't have to drag your stuff around with you like I do. And, best of all, you wouldn't have to worry about where to sleep every night.

There's always goods and bads to everything.