Drugs, dreads, the F-bomb, and a rebranding

Label on sack lunches

Today I delivered four brown bag lunches and this time, there's a new wrinkle: each lunch contains the address of homelessinseattle.net as an effort to starting marketing the Web site to the homeless.

Along with that, Centennian is no longer signing off at the end of these postings. The signoff will be a simple brown bag, symbolizing the meals to homeless people. The point is to avoid branding confusion.

Curses and ODs

Today started and ended with some unsettling experiences. My first encounter occurred in Cal Anderson park, where I passed several men who appeared to be camping in the shade and I spotted a woman on a bench with two bags that appeared to be worldly possessions. I approached her and ashed whether she was homeless. She responded with the F-bomb. I explained that I was distributing meals, was met with more malice, and moved on, recognizing that I need to practice and improve on my technique. I turned right at Broadway, walked a few blocks and met Gigi.

Gigi

"Gigi" is the name I have assigned for the sake of privacy to a lady who stands on a street corner on Broadway. She recognized me. Her plastic teeth make eating the apple I included in the brown bag difficult, but she could deal with it where she lodges, she said. Same for the two Black Forest ham and cheese sandwiches I made that morning.

The couple at the corner

A block farther on, there was a sprawl next to the sidewalk and backdropped by a dumpster. I passed it on the far side of the street, crossed and doubled back, realizing that I was looking at a man and a woman lounging on the sidewalk with their debris and a shopping cart. Did they need food, I asked. She pointed to the shopping cart and said they were well provisioned. But I wanted them to know about homelessinseattle.net. I mentioned the site and said the sticker on the brown bag gave the listing. I left my second brown bag meal with them.

Cancer, diabetes, "free" canes and water

I walked on north on Broadway until Umpqua Bank, then doubled back, encountering a man who was holding out his cap for donations. His name is Mike, he said. As I handed him the third brown bag I learned that he has lung cancer as well as diabetes; no money and inability to acquire health care; and a cane that was given to him by a doctor in Wallingford, for whom he performs minor chores. Being totally broke, Mike stays at homeless shelters such as Union Gospel Mission. Someone gave him water, but the bottle was stolen when he left it outside while using a bathroom. He obtained a second gallon bottle, drank some of the water, put the bottle down, and it disappeared. Mike said he could obtain water at the fountain at the Rite Aid pharmacy at East John and Broadway. That was news for me, because I thought the fountain hadn't been working. Maybe I was thinking of a different fountain.

At Dick's Drive-In I saw a familiar face -- a young woman who frequents the area. She was just getting started for the day and already had a meal, she said.

Dreads and drugs

At Broadway and Pine on the margin of Seattle Central Community College stood a man with a smattering of dreadlocks selling a $2 graphic magazine he had crafted by copying images from the internet. He didn't want a meal, he wanted to sell his magazine. But perhaps the people sleeping by a tree on the lawn would want a meal, he said. I approached them, but they were sound asleep. But this other man, leaning over as if to read, was sitting on a low wall 100 feet away. I approached him quietly and noticed the needle that his right hand was slipping into the vein on the back of his left hand. He remained stationary and oblivious. I walked back toward the intersection of Pine and Broadway.

Cops and the motorcyclist

Police had pulled over a motorcyclist and were citing him for driving the wrong way. I pointed out to one of the officers the man bent over with the needle in his hand and was told they would check on him.

Cardboard storefront

The fourth brown bag went to a woman in the shade along the southern fence in Cal Anderson park. She was trying to connect the cardboard with the fence as if to create a backdrop. I asked her whether she wanted a meal. She accepted it without a smile; she was focused on attaching the cardboard to the fence.
Meals served so far: 39
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