Or seeing someone you know from Tent City, but it’s never one of the nice ones, only ever one of thehorrid ones who get bold if you’re alone around them—the disgusting, despicable ones who spew outsuch nasty filth it makes you lose faith in the entire human race.
“Joy, why don’t we go back to my place and I’ll give you a little f*****g?”
“Why you acting like that?”
“I’ll give you five bucks if you come suck my c**k!”
I shudder. Six months has felt like an eternity out here.
Worse, though, somehow, are the ones who I do like—or did like—who are good-hearted and kind,who yell, “JOY!” at the top of their lungs and who, I’m ashamed to admit, I feel the same pang ofembarrassment at.
Because I’m careful at toeing the line between looking hippie and homeless. But as soon
