Odd Man Out

[ via fotojournalismus ]

Tonight I had to kick a homeless man out of the carport at work. We’ve had problems with people sleeping in the carport and also masturbating in the carport. The dog hotel isn’t in a bad neighborhood. It’s just located in an almost safe-zone for homeless people. It’s far enough away from where shit’s bad but close enough to where the cops won’t hassle you too much. In the past, when removing drifters from the carport, I’ve been unsympathetic. Severe even. Tonight though, when I got the call on the radio from the front desk that there was a man sleeping out there, I was in such a bad, self-loathing mood that I went with a different approach. I went to the break room and got my cigarettes first. I walked up to the guy and he was in a fluster. He was gathering his belongings and rolling up some foam bedding. It looked like he had just got comfortable. He had his shoes off and even had his phone plugged into the power outlet. I asked him if he smoked. He said yes. I told him I’d smoke a cigarette with him if he found another place to stay. He told me he knew the carport looked too good to be true with all the lights and the power outlet and the little nook by the side door. I told him it was a 24 hour facility and the dogs are going in and out of that door and it was for his safety that he couldn’t sleep there. This was a soft lie. The door he was sleeping next to is only in use during busy morning and early evening hours. We went out to the sidewalk and had our cigarettes. He told me about himself. His name is Cory. He was recently evicted. He’s 27. He’s been homeless for six months. He talked at some minor length about his experience being homeless. He was terse, didn’t blame anyone or anything for his situation, didn’t ask me for money. We just talked and smoked. I pointed out some areas nearby that might be okay to crash for the night. After fifteen minutes, the front desk person radioed me to ask if I was okay. Yes, we’re just talking. I gave him a cigarette for the road. He said thanks for not being a dick. I went back to work, upstairs where I was alone and back to my task of refilling water bowls and giving the dogs new beds. I started to weep. Not cry. There’s a difference.

by Dinah Fried

Just Amazing this was . Do tell us how much did You like it and keep shooting your mails for suggestions and critics. - The Mathematics Post

Ms Turfrey was passionate about the knitting. She even has a knitting tattoo, which she got on her 80th birthday after a dare, imprinted on her shoulder to display her passion.

ft. Puddles Pity Party