Andre, Kristen, Kenya, and what's his name...

I took one look at the bathroom scales and realized it was necessary to exercise more and eat less, so I headed off to Alaskan Way, and along the way I shared the wealth ... of food. Close to Boren and Madison I met an old friend -- Andre, who had positioned his chair -- a milk carton -- outside the door to Bartell Drugs and was holding a sign asking for help.

Last February I asked Andre if he wanted to go to McDonald's for a meal and he explained they wouldn't let him in there because of his hygiene, but Subway was kinder, so we ate there. The McDonald's is gone now -- there's just a pit filled with construction activity where the Golden Arches used to be, just one more indication of what's going on in the city with the most cranes in the nation. The homeless people who would gather outside the entrance have been displaced as well.

Bladder cancer, stolen cane

I recognized Andre right away and he remembered me. Another Subway sandwich? I asked. He said no; he needed to get money for meds. Not only is he diabetic, he now apparently has bladder cancer. And somebody had stolen his cane, a nice cane he had hung on the tree behind where he was sitting.

I went inside Bartell,  broke a $20, and gave him $5. Then I asked again if he wanted a sandwich. He said yes. He rose and slowly ambled toward Subway -- he can't walk fast -- leaving his materials behind. Shouldn't he take them? I asked. No-one would want then, he said.

That lying bathroom scale

He ordered a sandwich. I got a foot-long tuna, cut into two sections. Remembering what the lies my bathroom scale was telling me, I figured there would be people who needed it more than I did. And if I didn't buy something myself, Andre might have felt strange.

Andre was having second thoughts about his property on the street and wanted to get back to his perch and belongings, so we exited the Subway. On the sidewalk a woman joined us and  thanked me for buying a meal for Andre. She's also living on the street, and they are friends. I gave them each a business card, with my contact information inked out and a new address: homelessinseattle.net, along with my email address: rds@homelessinseattle.net. I explained that I was building a Web site with an index of services for the homeless.

The stolen backpack

It was time to head downhill, but I didn't get 100 feet before I ran into a man selling the Real Change magazine. I asked him whether he might want a tuna sandwich. He explained that he had his backpack stolen, along with a spare pair of pants and some money. He had put the backpack down, and when he turned around, it was gone. He was not giving up hope that it would turn up. (He had been on the street less than two weeks.)

I walked to Alaskan Way and turned back. On the way up Madison, I encountered a young man by the Library who was engaging pedestrians to talk with them about his organization that addresses working conditions in Seattle. Was it "Washington Works?" The organization's name escaped me. But his didn't -- he is African American, and his name is Kenya. Nice young man. I made a point of him remembering homelessinseattle.net, by handing him a business card. I think the two organizations can help each other help the homeless.

Seven years on the street

At 7th and I-5 I encountered a man facing downhill traffic where cars stop for the light and holding a sign asking for help. He said he had been homeless in Seattle seven years. He got the second half of my tuna sandwich. Not 100 feet away there was another individual lying on the concrete beyond the sidewalk, with his legs toward the street and his head cradled in, and covered by, an arm, as if he were trying to capture what silence he could as he slept. It made me wonder whether he was more in need of that final sandwich.
Meals served so far: 35
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