I live in the suburbs, real close to Placer County, one of the richest counties in California. Downtown Sacramento is 20 miles down the highway. Until a few years ago the only time I saw homeless people was when I had chance to drive to downtown Sac. I remembering hearing the homeless population back then as fifteen hundred strong. I thought that was a miscalculation or outright lie. I could see that many from 12th St. where it goes by the Loaves and Fishes, the local center to assist those who need it.

Now, my area has become populated with a diverse, fluid small city of people who have no place to go. None. They don’t have much unless they are industrious enough to steal a shopping cart and fill it with rags, broken tools, matches, and maybe a bedroll of some kind. They might have the makings for a tent, and maybe even some cooking utensils.

I see them. It’s like looking into a different world. Mostly they are clad in many-layered clothes, I suppose besides trying to stay warm, they wear everything they own so it doesn’t get stolen, rags though they may be. And the men are covered with scraggly beards and hair, and hats that cover what’s left to see. Their faces are hidden. I may see a pair of eyes sometimes when the position is just right with the light. They have given up and the eyes tell it. They are deep and cold.

There are the predators too. You can pick them out. They move faster, they have purpose, and they control. The only thing they have to control is the other homeless folks they share the streets and fields with. One guy I see is young, well-fed, has decent rags to wear and he commands a young girl who is still attractive, though won’t be for long, and very stoned. He’s pimping her. She gets smokes, drugs, and some food for her troubles. He probably has a stash of duckets somewhere, making his fortune off the fortunately challenged people he pushes around.

The Sherrif came out the other day and rousted the folks in the field right across from Starbucks where I was having a business meeting with an associate. They had a front loader and a couple of dump trucks and a crew of work detailers. There was a pretty big camp in the field there. It had recently popped up. The triangle field there must be at least five acres, with a copse of trees fairly close to the road. It looked like a city around and under the trees, and I suppose it was. The Sherrif rousted everyone, and the front loader got filled to dump in the dump trucks, and the village was no more. The people stayed though. And they grabbed what they could hold to save what they had saved before.

A man came into Starbucks a few days later with a small puppy. He was clean and obviously kept himself up as well as he could. The dog was friendly and greeted me. I saw the man and could see his eyes. They were kind eyes. He had a  big handful of change and bought a small cup of coffee and some kind of sandwich, and shared it with his puppy. And he sat. I don’t know how long he stayed there, but I saw him the next day. He didn’t buy anything this time, but he wearily sat down and his puppy sat with him. His eyes were still kind, but desperation was there as well that I hadn’t seen before. He got four or five of those little plastic pouches of honey from the condiment cart. Lunch for his puppy. Thought I was gonna cry.

I didn’t have much money in my pocket, maybe twenty-five bucks or so. When I got up to leave for my appointment I gave him the wad of cash and told him to get some food for himself and his puppy. I told him to have a good day. He wished for me the same. Thought he was gonna cry.

I heard some politician yesterday talking about all the great things they were gonna do with the billion dollars they have awarded to fight the homeless population. He was optimistic because they had increased their budget to “fight” this problem by fifty percent. Then he proceeded to cite some statistics that says since the last counting the homeless population has increased right about fifty percent. And that’s the problem. There isn’t anyone using their damned brain. Anyone of you jerks want to come out here and meet my buddy with his little puppy? That billion dollars might as well be spent buying rusty old tractors with no wheels. Dammit!