Take me home.

I've done my share of walking past the homeless, trying not to look at them. I've done my share of not wanting to make eye contact. Who carries money around these days? Everything's plastic. I'm waiting for the day when I'm asked: "hey lady, can you spare a gift card?"
I do look tho. I sneak my peeks before I reach them. I'm curious as to how they got there. I watch the documentaries on them. Fascinates me really, and saddens me too. If you help one, there's another on the next block. How can you stop? How can you start? The documentaries say they spend it on drugs or alcohol anyway. That's my reasoning for not helping.

He came into where I work asking for a job. He looked as cleaned up as I think he could ever get. I had such pity for him. He reminded me of somebody but I wasn't quite sure who. I tried to give him as much dignity and respect as I could. He said he could do anything and I told him we really didn't need anybody, but if he gave me his number... Just what was I thinking? I'll never forget his face. He wrote down his name on a piece of paper. I told him if we ever needed help I'd let him know. I asked for his number again. He wrote down his social security number. I could have cried. I kept that paper for a long time. As a reminder mostly. Maybe it was not to forget. I finally shredded and threw it away. I felt a bit guilty having such private information. That was all he could give me. That was all he had. Before he left he said "I'm homeless and I just need a job."