Yah. My parents have worked with the homless for nearly fifteen years. I've seen, fairly up-close, how long it takes to get back on one's feet after actually living on the streets for a few years. It's not fun, it's not cool, and one is not "free of all worries," as one of the train-people said. (Hello? Food? Shelter? Not freezing to death? That sounds like worries to me!)
Gnar. I swear, if they'd have got off the train five minutes later, I'd have ignored my politness (or the fact that I do not, in fact speak French sufficiently to carry on this sort of discussion) and butted in.
There's nothing scarier than not knowing where you're going to live. I was calling shelters a few months ago and just fucking terrified that once I walked into one I'd never walk out.
There've been nights spent on park benches that I don't relish ever repeating.
Fft. I would have said something, in loud obnoxious English. :)
i think that it is the romantic [literature-wise, not in the lovey kissy type] sense of getting back to nature, being on ones own, and making the best of everything that makes the situation so appealing to many. but it isn't. it really, really, isn't.
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bubosquared Mar. 12th, 2002 09:13 pm)
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Indeed.
[looks around at four walls and door and thanks her lucky stars.]
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Gnar. I swear, if they'd have got off the train five minutes later, I'd have ignored my politness (or the fact that I do not, in fact speak French sufficiently to carry on this sort of discussion) and butted in.
Snarf.
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There've been nights spent on park benches that I don't relish ever repeating.
Fft. I would have said something, in loud obnoxious English. :)
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Ah, unfortunately, most Walloons don't even understand English.
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Don't mind me, I have issues. <>
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