What can I do? Really?

So last night while Barack is winning the election, I sneak outside for a smoke. As always there is a homeless person asking me for change. I really didn't have any to give. I checked all the usual places I would carry change and none was to be found.

This transient is a 50 year old white male, who could really use some help. I guess because I see so many homeless people in Sacramento, I know the difference. The difference between someone who is down on their luck, and someone who has been down on their luck forever.

But what can I do? I can offer him a cigarette. I'm always good for a cigarette. Once when I gave a homeless man a cigarette he said, "So you'll give me lung cancer, but you won't help me get a place to sleep tonight?" I took the cigarette back. I don't need that shit.

So the guy tonight takes my cigarette and lights it. I'm probably the first person who has actually stopped to talk with this guy in quite a while. We're all alone suddenly too. Which is kind of freaking me out. Is he going to try and take what I'm not going to give him? Is he going to find out if I really have any change or not? I always wonder this. I'm probably not careful enough. I'm a big guy, and I would smash a transient's homeless little face in if he ever tried something, but what if they had a knife, or homemade weapon?

So this guy takes the smoke, and he's talking about what he used to do. I think he was a chef, I wasn't really listening. Not until he started breaking my heart. I've never had it broken before. I guess it was the first time, I'd ever put myself in someone else's shoes.

I mean he's 50, he's not dead, speaks well, and worked his whole entire life. He's someone that I know right now, in 20 years. At least exactly like them; exactly like me.

I could see that he was just mad with himself. Completely bonkers about the entire thing. He had wrapped his mind around his situation about a thousand times that day, and several hundred past. What would you do if you were homeless? Stop and think about that one for a moment. You don't have any relatives, money or clean clothes. There's also not a self help book, and you couldn't afford one if there was. What would you do? You'd do everything. Anything. You'd have to, as long as you wanted to live that is. How long would that be though? The will to live would be constantly chipped away at moment after moment.

I tried to give him some advice, but nothing good came to mind. All I could tell him was that I had none of that either. I was all out of change, and I was all out of advice. A lot of good I was.

He just stood there talking to me. I couldn't pull myself away. Because I felt so guilty for the rather meek yet sheltered existence of my own. And because of that flaw I got to hear a most disturbing phrase.

He asked me if I had a gun.

"A what?" I say.

"A gun" This time I hear.

"No I don't have a gun." I was being honest. I didn't know where this was going. Does he have a gun?

"Damn... if you did I'd want you to shoot me in the head."

I know if you're reading this, and listening to Itunes that those are just words on a screen to you. They might even be comical for whatever reason, but tonight they were everything but. They were real, honest and arrogantly brave.

He told me that he was so sick of pan-handling and started to lose it. But then he did the most remarkable thing. He realized that I really was a good person who couldn't help him, and that it was actually troubling me. He caught himself out of the kindness of his heart, and didn't want to show me what being homeless has made him become. He was about to lash loudly and he spared me.

He got himself together, in an instant. It made him feel normal, pretending to be. Pretending is a luxury that people with homes don't even know they have. I saw it in his face. He felt good. He needed that. We parted ways. I've been to that moment about 500 times with other homeless people, and they just go ballistic. But this one, he was different. So I realized that he's a good man too. He's just like me, minus a shower. How many other good people are out there? How many people just like me are out there?

So I've been thinking, and thinking. I couldn't help that guy, but what about the next one? And I don't have any ground breaking ideas just yet. But they're coming. I know they are. I'm brilliant. And if anyone can save the homeless it's me.

Because today I learned there is one thing I will not stand for. And that is having my heart broken again.

Fuck you poverty you're about to be my bitch.