# I would have shit in that alley, too

After living in a suburb for most of my life, when I moved to a major U.S. city the first thing I noticed was the feces. At first I assumed it was dog poop, but my naivety didn’t last long.

One day I saw a homeless man waddling towards me at a fast speed while holding his ass cheeks. He turned into an alley and took a shit. As I passed him, there was a moment where our eyes met. He sheepishly averted his gaze.

The next day I walked to the same place. There are a number of businesses on both sides of the street that probably all have bathrooms. I walked into each of them to investigate.

In a coffee shop, I saw a homeless woman ask the barista if she could use the bathroom. “Sorry, that bathroom is for customers only.” I waited five minutes and then inquired from the barista if I could use the bathroom (even though I hadn’t ordered anything). “Sure! The bathroom code is 0528.” 

The other businesses I entered also had policies for ‘customers only’. Nearly all of them allowed me to use the bathroom despite not purchasing anything. 

If I was that homeless guy, I would have shit in that alley, too.  
 

**I receive more compliments from homeless people compared to the women I go on dates with**
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s this one homeless guy—a big fella who looks intimidating—I sometimes pass on my walk to the gym. The first time I saw him, he put on a big smile and said in a booming voice, “Hey there! I hope you’re having a blessed day!” Without making eye contact (because I didn’t want him to ask me for money), I mumbled “thanks” and quickly walked away.

I saw him again a few weeks later. With another beaming smile he exclaimed, “You must be going to the gym—you’re looking fit, my man!” I blushed and replied, “I appreciate it, have a good day.” He then added, “God bless you, sir!” Being non-religious, that made me a little uncomfortable.

With our next encounter, I found myself smiling as I approached him. This time I greeted him first, “Good afternoon!” His face lit up with glee. “Sir, that’s very kind of you. I appreciate that. God bless you!” Without hesitation I responded, “God bless you, too!” I’m not sure the last time I’ve uttered those words; I don’t even say ‘bless you’ after people sneeze.

We say hi to each other regularly now. His name is George.

**Is that guy dead?**
---------------------

Coming home one day, I saw a disheveled man lying facedown on the sidewalk.

![](https://39669.cdn.cke-cs.com/rQvD3VnunXZu34m86e5f/images/447b6207945912d0bedfac11948255118a83dfb466165fa2.jpg)

He’s not moving. I crouched to hear if he’s breathing. Nothing. 

I looked up and saw a lady in a car next to me stopped at a red light. We made eye contact and I gestured towards the guy as if to say *what the fuck do we do?* Her answer was to grip the steering wheel and aggressively stare in front of her until the light turned green and she sped off.

Not knowing if I needed to call an ambulance, I asked him, “Hey buddy, you okay?” I heard back a muffled, “AYE KENT GEEUP!”

Well, at least he’s not dead. 

“Uhh, what was that? You doing okay?” This time a more articulate, “I CAN’T GET UP,” escaped from him. Despite his clothes being somewhat dirty and not wanting to touch him, I helped him to his feet.

With one look on his face I could tell that he wasn’t all there. I asked him if he knew where he was or if he needed help, but he could only reply with gibberish. It could have been drugs; it could have been mental illness. With confirmation that he wasn’t dead and was able to walk around, I went home.  
 

**Who’s giving Brazilian waxes to the homeless?**
-------------------------------------------------

I was walking behind a homeless man the other day. He was wearing an extra long flannel and sagging his pants low.

Suddenly, he noticed his (one and only) shoe was untied and fixed it promptly by executing a full [standing pike](https://www.google.com/search?q=standing+pike&sca_esv=dad2937f84c7a69c&sca_upv=1&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS924US924&udm=2&biw=1504&bih=868&ei=TbhvZvmcENLIkPIPq46_-Ag&ved=0ahUKEwi59-Ov4-GGAxVSJEQIHSvHD48Q4dUDCBA&uact=5&oq=standing+pike&gs_lp=Egxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAiDXN0YW5kaW5nIHBpa2UyChAAGIAEGEMYigUyChAAGIAEGEMYigUyBRAAGIAEMgUQABiABDIFEAAYgAQyBhAAGAgYHjIHEAAYgAQYGDIHEAAYgAQYGEirJFCoB1ilI3ABeACQAQCYAZkBoAHrDaoBBDExLje4AQPIAQD4AQGYAhGgAv8NwgIIEAAYgAQYsQPCAgsQABiABBixAxiDAcICDhAAGIAEGLEDGIMBGIoFwgIEEAAYA5gDAIgGAZIHAzkuOKAH01o&sclient=gws-wiz-serp). I wasn’t expecting him to have the flexibility of a gymnast.

In doing so, his flannel lifted up to reveal his dick and balls. The strangest thing? Fully shaved. Who’s going around giving pro bono Brazilian waxes to the homeless?

**Crazy people talk to themselves because no one else will**
------------------------------------------------------------

Walking to the library one day, I noticed a homeless woman muttering to herself. There was an aura of urine about her. She was missing several teeth. 

When she spotted me, she asked for twenty dollars. My father taught me to never give homeless people money because “they’ll just use it for drugs and alcohol.” I wasn’t busy, so I sat down next to her on the sidewalk and asked, “how’s your day going?”

She launched into a tirade about why her life sucks—it was mostly incoherent and I assumed she was crazy. After about ten minutes, she paused. She skittishly made eye contact with me and said “sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“Well, sometimes I ramble. But that’s because I have no one to talk to.”

“It’s probably lonely living on the streets.”

“Yeah.”

Once she realized I wasn’t going to abruptly leave, she asked me about myself and a conversation ensued. Over the next thirty minutes I learned that in the course of her life:

*   She used to be a groupie for famous rock bands in San Francisco during the 1960s.
*   Living the groupie lifestyle, she experimented with different drugs until she became a meth addict (hence the missing teeth).
*   Broke and addicted to meth at forty years old, she moved back in with her parents.
*   While living at home during this time, her brother began to rape her regularly. He told her that if she spoke up he would tell the police about her meth stash.
*   She spoke up. Nobody in her family believed her that her brother was raping her. Her brother stayed true to his word and reported her to the authorities. She served multiple years in prison for possession of meth.
*   When she was released, she had nowhere to go since her family had disowned her. She’s been homeless ever since. Sometimes she’s woken up by strangers raping her.

At the end of our conversation, she wished me well and said, “enjoy the library!”

“Have you forgotten how our conversation began?”

“...yes.”

“You were asking me for twenty dollars.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“What did you need the money for?”

“My bike’s inner tube is punctured and I’d like to buy a new one.”

I gave her twenty dollars. She shook my hand and said, “God bless you.”

Her name is Teresa.

* * *

Part 1: [I would have shit in that alley, too](https://www.lesswrong.com/posts/sCWe5RRvSHQMccd2Q/i-would-have-shit-in-that-alley-too)  
Part 2: [A City Within a City](https://www.lesswrong.com/posts/rLtf5mzsGhgEA75WM/a-city-within-a-city)