“I want to check out that bridge,” Aaron says. I was already feeling uncomfortable. We had just walked through a small park filled with homeless guys, some of whom asked Aaron for drugs (like he has any, cmon now). We walked under the bridge and the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach grew. It was obviously a homeless hideout, signs of human deification, trash, remnants of a fire. Yet after trying a few other options out, it ended up being where we spent the night, avoiding the greater danger of hypothermia on the cold, rainy, night. Oh, to be homeless in a foreign city.
I’m pretty sure I woke up to the slightest of sounds that were out of place and even had one bad dream of a guy coming over and kicking at my feet - and was much relived to wake up and realize it was just a dream. But no one came to bother us, and having survived it now, I would probably be less scared next time. But I wouldn’t do it again by choice. Although I’m not sure anyone is ever homeless by choice, and even if we could have ‘given in’ and swiped a credit card, most people who live like that don’t have ‘outs’ or ‘lifelines’. Life is life.
The grossness of those days did make me very grateful for days to follow that were better, and also very grateful to wash everything I owned that semi adopted that smell of the bridge.
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