The day before the hearing, the city ordered Harbor House to close its second-floor sleeping area.
The inspector had found water damage near a support beam and an electrical outlet that sparked when the lights were switched on. No one could sleep in the rooms until repairs were made.
Nine beds disappeared overnight.
I was there when the city crew taped the stairwell shut. I watched Maribel help a man carry his clothes downstairs in a laundry bag. He didn't complain. He only asked whether he could leave his shoes under the bed until someone found a storage room.
"We can keep them in the office," I told him.
He nodded and looked toward the closed stairs.
That was the thing about losing a bed. It wasn't just losing a mattress. It was losing a place for your socks, your soap, your papers
