Riding my bike, I often pass through a field. It’s bordered by a freeway, a commercial district, homes and a wildlife sanctuary.
I see many homeless people walking into and out of this field, carrying water and bags. There must be dozens, sleeping under large bushes and between depressions in the dirt. We’ve had no rain in years, it seems, so it must be dry and sort of nice, compared to sleeping on sidewalks.
I never see any cops or raids of the field. I hope the people are safe. I’m thankful not be among them, as we all could—easily, with just a few bad circumstances.
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