The Unhoused Resident

August 28th 2023

I spotted his dark, worn suitcase before his figure came into view, and I half assumed I would find him asleep. As I approached on the sidewalk, I realized that he sat still, hunching over, with his left hand gripping two plastic bags filled with his additional belongings. His body, tired and frail, sat beside The Big Bag ice cooler, which hummed quietly. I scuffed my shoe and he lifted his head slightly.

He spoke in a low voice, murmuring in my direction when he recognized me. I noticed that the loose curls laying upon his head were tangled and dry and streaked with grey. His left eye, which was once as deep of a golden brown as the right, was a similar, cloudy hue. And his smile was as kind as always.

…

As I drove to work, I wondered if he had found housing. I wondered if he stayed clean long enough to be in a rehab program. I wondered if an employer gave him a chance for a while. I wondered if his blindness led him to a darkness that he was unable to return from. I wondered if the needles haunted him, filling his veins with poison. I wondered why, after all this time, he returned to this place. But, as I recalled the way his hunger and thirst were quenched, I understood.

I wasn’t hungry anyways.