This is your life

We’re having an unusual spell of gorgeous weather in the city. On my daily morning walk with the dogs we pass through a bench lined promenade next to the bay. This morning, every single bench was occupied by a homeless character I recognized from the library, including the kicker, who has been disturbingly dark roasted by sun, grime, and exposure. Each one was stretched out with a breakfast 40, sunning him/herself. They were all lined up, just like intoxicated turtles on a log, or like deceased, beloved relatives beckoning you by in the tunnel that leads toward the white light in a near death experience.



It was like a stroll down memory lane, and as a couple of them recognized me and waved I thought to myself, “I really need to vary my walking route.”