Homeless in my Hometown

I decided to go to a coffee shop for something other than coffee (apple cider) at a ridiculous time of night. Yes, 9pm is ridiculous according to me. Granted in Canada, at least during the winter, we have shorter days. I parked my cars at the free parking lot on Main Street in the delightful sleepy town of Streetsville, in which the two hotspots for coffee sit on opposite sides of the same street. As I turn the corner to enter one of the coffee shops, a six foot eight, bearded man with dreadlocks appears from out of nowhere; he is leaning forward, but he is so thin you can't see him around the corner until you come around! Remembering I'm a dude, and the last time I shrieked that high I was in high school trying to impress this girl I secretly had a crush on by hitting a patented Mariah Carey falsetto in the cafeteria (Hi Tara), I paused and then continued into the unnamed coffee establishment.

The incident irked me for one main reason: I never had an up close and personal encounter with a homeless person in my hometown. I would often see that in Toronto, or in some of the American cities I would visit from time to time, but now homelessness spread into Mississauga, my hometown! Over the years some of my friends would speak about homeless fellows and shelters in my city, but I never saw them out and about; the closest I came to a shelter was driving past the food bank on the way to a construction supply depot to pick up supplies. It's not enough to be follow Amnesty International on Twitter or be a card carrying member of World Vision; the global problems of recession and fear hit us right on our streets, and in a growing number of cases right around the corner.

When I left the coffee shop with my apple cider, the homeless man moved on. He was really tall, almost like a basketball player; he looked like he had some ability, but that is all in hindsight now. If I see him again, I'll keep you posted.