The Homeless of D.C.

This is part of a series of posts on observations and people I meet in D.C. While based on actual events, it is a creative writing exercise and not 100 percent accurate.

They’re the real residents of D.C., always present, always ignored. She sits in her wheelchair and jams out to headphones in the middle of the ebb and flow of the crosswalk. Glory to Jesus, she sings. Glory to the hunger. Glory to the pain. Glory to the unglory. Spare some change for the hungry? Spare some change for the maimed?

Dope or God, it’s all the same. It’s always just another hit to get you through the day.

Ten feet away a crowd gets drunk off the nectar of wine and success, dressed in their JoS A. Bank suits and Steve Madden shoes. Their laughter spills through the sidewalk, some joke about an economist. A small gate creates a barrier from both realities.

Spare some change for the homeless, he yells.

Praise glory be to Jesus, she sings.

Vote for the next millionaire, they say.

A man drops a five dollar bill in the jar by the blind man sleeping in the street. It’s his good deed of the week, as he gets in a cab and drives away.

Ignorance is bliss, he says.

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