For the record, I should say this: I don’t romanticize the plight of the homeless or project sentiment where none is required. My take on the indigent is that some are there because of temporary setbacks, some by default, and some for lack of an alternative. Some are needy, some are off their meds, some have opted out, some have been ousted from facilities where they might be better served. Many are there for life and not always by personal choice. Alcoholic, addicted, aimless, illiterate, unmotivated, unskilled, or otherwise unable to prosper, they sink to the bottom, and if they’re down for any length of time, they lose the capacity to climb back out of the hole into which they’ve fallen. If there’s a remedy, I don’t know what it is. From what I’ve seen of the problem, most solutions perpetuate the status quo.

The room I entered was large, furnished with an assortment of couches and chairs, many occupied. The foot traffic in and out was constant. A handsome gentleman in his midsixties was perched on a rolling chair behind the counter to my right. There was a woman ahead of me in this two-person line and I waited my turn. She removed a laminated card from her jeans pocket. By shifting slightly, I saw that it bore her name, an ID number, and a photo likeness.

She pushed the card across the counter. “Hi, Ken. Could you check to see if I have mail?”

She leaned on the counter and peered over the edge. On the desktop below there was a ceramic mug full of toothbrushes, still sealed in cellophane packaging. “Can I have one of those?”

By way of reply, he held up the mug and watched as she selected a red toothbrush and put it in her fanny pack. He said, “I heard you were sick. Feeling better?”

She made a face. “I was in the hospital two days. I passed a kidney stone—little bitty thing about the size of a grain of sand—and I’m puking my guts out and shrieking like a banshee. The ER doc thinks I’m faking to score a few Vicodin and that pissed me off. I raised a stink until the other doc signed an order to have me admitted. I finally got a shot of Demerol, no thanks to the asshole who turned me down.”

“But you’re okay now?”

“I’d feel better if my check came in. I got two bucks left to my name.”

He took her ID card and turned away, using his feet to scoot himself from the counter to a metal file cabinet behind him. He put the ID on top and began a finger stroll through the files. After a moment he said, “Nope. Not today.”

“Can you go through the bin? Might be a big manila envelope with some other paperwork. They said it went out Tuesday, so it should be here.”