Suffice it for now, if you've happened across this article, that I'm a very recently homeless guy. Still look respectable and all (still active gym membership helps that - I get to work out and shower every day), so most people don't know if I don't mention it. I'm still an active member of various communities, etc etc. So the word "homeless" pretty much means literally no-home, not "hobo" or whatever the more appropriate term for a chronically-homeless person is.
Anyway, recently homeless. Have never panhandled before. But I gotta eat. And it would be nice to grab a cup of coffee and be able to sit in a Starbucks now and then while I peruse job ads on Craigslist. So a few bucks wouldn't hurt. Besides, I figure this is a good opportunity to (a) cut through my pride and (b) do something I'm afraid of doing.
So I walk around Boston, looking at groups of people, trying to get up the nerve to pop the question. Finally I see a guy walking along and I approach him: "Excuse me, but do you have a dollar you could stand to part with?" (took me a while to work out wording).
His response: "Na man, shit I'm out here trying to get some change. You got any weed?"
Me: "No man, sorry"
I walk on. The next guy I ask is standing on a street corner, eating some food out of a bag. I ask him the same question: "Do you have a dollar you could stand to part with?"
His response: "No, I don't have any cash on me. I had to buy this [shakes his bag of beef jerky] with a credit card." He makes it sound like it's a tragedy that he had to use the credit card.
Me: "That sucks dude."
So I end up walking down this residential street. I'm thinking "crap, there's not gonna be anybody here to ask", and I start heading back toward Boylston street. I notice it's already getting easier to pop the question. Is this a good thing? Am I enabling my homelessness to continue?
Then I hear angry shouting from up the street, in front of me. I keep walking that direction. I always try to approach a fight, in case I need to help someone out. I'm a hero at heart; I always see things as my responsibility. Mainly because I've heard too many stories of bystanders watching someone get murdered, or all the jews rounded up, or whatever without putting up a fuss. I don't want to be that bystander. So I walk toward fights, not away from them.
When I rounded the corner, I see the two. One is fat, shirtless, face-down on the sidewalk, with a huge booger hanging out his nose. The other (we'll call him the Brute) is fully clothed, on top of the other (lying on the other guy's back), and holding Fattie in a chokehold. Fattie's silent, grimacing, furious but helpless. There's a third standing there saying something like "come on guys, you guys are being assholes. Just stop." I'll call him the Peacemaker.
The presence of the Peacemaker allows me to walk on. Let the friend handle these idiots, not my job. But wait! I turn around: "Does any of you guys have a dollar you could part with?" (I figure heck, maybe it'll break up the fight)
The standing one, the peacemaker of the group, pull out his billfold and gives me a dollar.
The Brute, however, decides to switch targets. He unlocks Fattie, and gets up and starts toward me, mumbling something like "you motherfucker ...". He falls flat on his face in the pavement. Gets up, more angry, and starts coming at me, arms stretched out.
Me: "Stay the fuck away from me." I'm pointing the umbrella I'm holding (a short one) at his face. He's not deterred.
Brute: "Come here, mother fucker."
Me: "I said stay the fuck back!"
he grabs me, my left arm and his right arm locked together. I swing ineffectually at his head with the umbrella. I might as well be swinging an ice cream cone.
He grabs my tie. We've started turning in a circle. He swings me around him by the tie, sends me flying toward the curb. I tuck and fall, my full weight landing on my backpack (I later checked the aluminum MacBook in my bag - completely unscathed). While I'm on my back, he rushes up and starts kicking me. He kicks my shoulder, my head. Maybe 4 or 5 blows, then starts dragging me.
At first I was amused when he turned toward me. Then a bit concerned when he fell face-flat on the road. Then I was in disbelief as he continue to advance on me.
But when he got me on the ground and he started kicking me, I felt terror. If his friends hadn't pulled him off me, he could have easily killed me. The toe of his foot connected with my temple. Twice. That's a killing blow. In that moment of terror, it wasn't cute, or amusing, I was afraid, with a sudden realization I was on the brink of getting SERIOUSLY FUCKED UP, like emergency room, brain trauma ward at Spaulding, eat-through-a-straw-and-struggle-with-coloring-books-for-the-rest-of-my-life fucked up. I heard my own voice scream "NO!". That tone of voice people use in movies when they realize they're about to be betrayed, or eaten by a dinosaur.
Slapping someone, that's insulting. Calling them names on the street, that's annoying. Punching someone in a bar fight, that's rowdy.
But kicking someone in the head when they're lying on their back in the street? That makes my fucking blood boil. I wish I could find that guy and be prepared. Motherfucker didn't just hurt my pride, he endangered my life, on purpose, without even material gain. But just because as alcohol destroyed the facade of his being, the only thing that was revealed was baseless rage, murderous intent backed my muscle.
He should be put down. Let him die peacefully. He can't help the way he is. But he does deserve to die. I'd happily do it myself.
I've heard of violence against homeless people. But I didn't really believe it. I asked for a dollar, and he attacked me like a rabid dog. Fuck all that.
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