You may think you know who I am. You pass me on the corner on your way into work. I have the same clothes on my body, the same sign in my hands everyday.
Homeless Vet. Pleas Help. God Bless.
You look at the sidewalk when you hurry past. Eye contact is forbidden. Eye contact might stimulate feelings of misplaced pity for a guy who should quit hunting for hand-outs and start hunting for a job. You say things like “Worthless Bum.” “Lazy Beggar.” “Vagrant.”
But what you don’t know is that I can’t get a job because I don’t have an address. I don’t have an address because I don’t have a home. And I don’t have a home because I can’t get a job. You don’t realize that welfare help is no help at all, that it’s aimed to keep people poor. And you don’t realize that I hear what you mutter under your breath when you pass by.
You think you’ve got me pretty nailed down. But let me just say this;
You may think you know who I am, but you don’t even know my name.