I got to work a little early last Wednesday, so I sat outside to drink my coffee. I’ve become such an at-work coffee-drinker, a habit that began when I was a housekeeper. It was winter when I started, so every weekend morning at 8 AM I would huddle by the heater while the too-strong coffee brewed. I’d take it with me to the cabins I cleaned, much like how now, I carry it along with me from one point to the next like it’s my assistant.
Anyway, the point of this isn’t coffee, it’s the homeless guy I met on the Wednesday I was early. I was sitting on the rock wall, keeping my distance when he looked up at me and said, “Coffee, huh? That’s Starbucks?” I said no, it wasn’t, but Starbucks is pretty good, though. This time I’d just made the coffee myself at home.
“Are there still a lot of old Deadheads here?” The man was still looking at me. I said it seemed like there were more college students than anyone else, now. “Well, you gotta grow up,” he said. “You can’t be a Deadhead forever. I’m looking for a place to live and play music. I gotta go to the dentist, too. I might hafta play my flute at the dentist so he’ll fix my tooth.”
“I gotta find some soft ground right now,” he continued, “to bury this stuff.” I looked over at his pack, unsure of what he meant. Did he have the remains of some pet with him? Some seeds for apple trees? He saw me looking, and his explanation was simple. “I don’t like carrying it.”
What an eye-opener, seriously. What else can you do with your belongings, when you yourself belong nowhere? I spent the rest of the day thinking about it.