Takes one to know one

There was something out of place the minute I walked into the foyer of the grocery store. Out by the shopping carts and the free publication rack was a woman. My instincts immediately went on the alert. Her back was to me as she was scanning a Greensheet but she felt my eyes upon her. "Is she?" I wondered. "Is she one, too?" Her furtive glance caught my eyes from which she immediately averted. Then I knew. It was a response I knew well. The hiding of the shame. She was homeless, too.

I was busy filling my jug with water and I noticed how relieved I was to have one of my own near me instead of one of "them". Insiders are outsiders to us. My guard dropped for once. I wanted to walk over and say something. Tell her it was OK 'cause I was one too. Instead, I just observed her clothes and noticed the tell-tale signs. The dirt around the edges, that "worn" look, clothes once nice but now a bit tattered. She really couldn't hide it if she wanted to.

I hide well and I'm sure many times people suspect nothing of me. It's just that always being on the con is a killer - perhaps quite literally. I'm sure these stomach pains I'm having are quite serious. I beg to leave this every day.