Van Ness Station. My stop. Only fifteen minutes till class. Walk up Franklin Street. Can't bypass the chaos today.
There's the screamer. He never leaves this block. He scared me at first, but he never hurts anyone. He's always someplace else.
Is that a fresh pile of human crap? Gross! Who would do that? I can't believe I have to see that on my way to school.
What's wrong with you? You know who did it. A person living on these sidewalks. Feeling sorry for yourself? It's freezing out here.
Damn. That woman lying on the steps looks terrible. Should I...
I gotta go faster. Late and Mr. Mack hits me with detention for sure.
Grove Street. Wish I could grab a Wise Sons bagel!
Just the encampment at Golden Gate Ave and I'm there. I wonder if the girl is awake and out from under her tarp, pushing the broken broom. Why does she do it? It's like sweeping sand off the desert. She looks my age. Her face... I know her life has been brutal. It can't be her fault.
After graduation, it's Irvine for college. Dad says my plan is ridiculous. San Francisco is a great city. But he rarely sees any of this. Irvine is clean and safe and robots deliver noodles to your dorm.
Right, just run away. Don't see it, you'll forget it.
One more block to Ellis Street. "Sorry, no spare change. Thanks, you have a nice day too."
Three years ago, breaking out of pandemic isolation, I started as a freshman at Sacred Heart Cathedral Preparatory High School. Every morning, I walk from my home to West Portal Station, ride the train downtown to Van Ness, and walk the final leg to campus at Franklin and Ellis. Every evening, I complete that journey in reverse.
It's during the downtown walks that I come closest to the people living on the pavement. Many sidewalks are lined with makeshift tents, tarps, and scattered belongings. The air smells of food, car exhaust, and things far less pleasant. People huddle against buildings, some standing, some sitting, a few lying down. The city's vibrant pulse seems to bypass them as if they inhabit a different world.
Initially, traversing this environment created a rollercoaster of emotions, but that shock has faded. What once horrified me now feels unpleasant but routine. I pass the desperate faces and barely react. I'm becoming numb to the suffering. I know I should care more, should act, but it's easier to detach, to focus on my life. I fear, how long can I turn away before I stop caring altogether?
So I've tried to turn back and engage. I've reviewed recent studies on homelessness, watched the SF Mayoral debate, and attended campaign events at Bookshop West Portal. My impression is that the city, like me, is becoming numb to the suffering and impatient for a fix. The mayoral candidates compete to address voters' demands for homeless-free streets, while downplaying discussion of what's next for the unhoused.
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