An elderly woman yelled that to me today (and she was quite proud of herself). She was very angry with me for being homeless. She said she used to have sympathy but not anymore. Lots of people are angry with my being homeless. Some even believe it gives them the right to do me harm. My terrorists attack every day. Somehow, my homelessness seems to invalidate peoples' lives. How can anyone not prosper in this society, they complain. They have offered me careers in dish washing and lawn mowing. In doing these things I can once again attain value, they assert.
I say nothing to them. It's their own feelings of worthlessness of which they despair. I am merely a conduit for feelings they cannot otherwise express. To me, I see the homeless as extremely useful. We are the barometers of a society's soul. Our treatment is your fate. I think that's why so many people are mad.
("Won't be my fate!" scoffed the Rich Man to the homeless Lazarus. "I pay my bills. I do what I'm supposed to!" Later, in Hell, the Rich Man was confused. The irresponsible homeless man was in Heaven and here he was, the good guy, in Hell! God screwed up! He tried explaining the socio-economic structure of his world to God, but to no avail. "I hate God," he lamented. "He's a damn liberal!")
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