Not happy. Still upset about the car hitting him. Didn’t want to go to hospital.
Author: duckshots
Lapsed lawyer. Reader. Photographer. Jewish. Strongly attached to loving, caring, wife-Sharon. Working at remaining relevant. Hoping that my body and mind outlive my dreams. Maybe something I blog will make some sense.
Paul Hit by Car
I went looking for Paul this morning with another friend, Winstead. Hoped we could take him to look at rental apartments. Looked on upper Church Street. Looked in alleys. Asked people on the street. Found him on lower Church. Looking noticeably upset, he bellowed, “I got hit by a car. I went 6 feet in the air. I had the light. I was in the crosswalk. And the cops didn’t give a damn.” Not sure what more they could have done. They took him to the hospital. Picked him up when the treatment, whatever it was, had been completed.
Joe Guitar on Bank Street
The lives of some of my guys can be so fragile. Struggled to resume his life after hitting the bottom. “I didn’t want to be a bum.” He had crashed. Lost his father. No home. No job. No things. Collapsed somewhere, a woman offered him $10. “I don’t want handouts,” he told her, rejecting the gift. He went to Serenity House in Wallingford, cleaned up, and came back.
Paul Sits On Cherry St 11/22/10
“I slept inside last night. The guy had four cats. His place was a mess. At least it was warm.”
Anita Hill Asked To Apologize
Can you believe the outright gall of that woman, Mrs. Justice Clarence Thomas? She must be on some kind of drugs, oxy would be my guess, or on a power trip of obscene proportions. Apologize. I’d prefer that Mr. Justice Thomas, he of the scowl and the silent treatment, resign and that Ms. Hill take his place. Good thing Ms. Hill called the FBI. Who knows what Ginny Thomas and her Liberty Central buds are capable of?
Portland before Maine Media MFA
I don’t travel well, because I don’t like public bathrooms.
Just like home.
Porland looks much like Burlington. Portland Museum tomorrow for the f64 show. The town be a little more gritty than Burlington. Better baseball team and stadium (Pawdogs). Better restaurants. Ferries to the islands. Politics here, though, be seriously messed up right now.
Papa Neutrino’s Junk
Papa Neutrino left Burlington on a makeshift raft with three dogs and three other people. The raft barely made it to Charlotte before winds, waves and the elements did his craft in. Leaving aside the danger he put rescuers in, not to mention his crew, and the equipment damaged during efforts to save him, he left garbage on the shore of Lake Champlain despoiling one of our most valuable and beloved assets. How ironic that those who authorized his boat as water worthy have to look from their station at his mess.
Waterfront Diving Center in Lake Champlain on November 21
So what if the water temperature was 46 degrees. They wear wet suits. Overheard as we walked by, “its cold; let’s get back in the water.
Paul in Doorway on Church Street
Told him I called his sister and received a loving caring call back. He mustered up a positive face. Said he slept in the doorway, if you could call it sleep. I guess. Hard floor. Immobilized. Alcohol probably inhibits movement so he stays on the area he warmed. May also lower his temperature. Cold last night, not winter VT cold, but cold-30s. “I had a heated grate for a while. It blew up warm air and then cold air.”
Paul on Cherry Street II
Yesterday I went looking for Paul to bring him jeans and sweater/jacket that Sharon bought for him at the Shuk. Paul said someone had promised to get him jeans, but he couldn’t trust anyone. He didn’t know his size, “maybe 30/30.” Larry, a street guy, said that he had seen Paul earlier in the day drinking with Ty, the guy with the eye tatooed in the center of his forehead. I walked around the area behind the buildings at the North End of Church and didn’t find him. No more time to kill, I went to do my JUMP duty.
Today, I found him after an early morning walk down by the Lake. I gave him the clothes. We talked. Then I walked him to City Hall to change. He shook and staggered the whole way there. “Can I get you anything, like coffee or food?””I could use a beer. I got DTs bad.” I shrugged. Not on my menu. He had talked with the supervisor of wet drop in center who told him to come back after dark. “I don’t need you after dark. I need you now.” Someone let him sleep in their van last night. It had some blankets. “Its the first night I have been warm in a month.”
He showed me a card given to him by the social worker which his sister sent for his birthday. It arrived in his possession late, he said. “I have some decisions to make. I have to be out of here next week. I just don’t know what to do. I have to make arrangements for my stuff in Middlebury.” I urged him not to make bigger problems and promised to take care of the pictures and equipment he parked at someone’s home. “I trust you,” he said.
He rummaged through his bag, looking for something. Then he pulled out a piece of paper with his sister’s number on it. “Will you call her.” I didn’t ask what he wanted me to say.
He was back at his spot after noon. He looked better. He had changed into the pants. “They fit perfectly. How did you know my size? I only wear jeans. I wouldn’t wear anything else. And the LL Bean Sweater and jacket look great also. I feel a lot better.” He was going to make something out of some wire he found, but someone had taken his combination tool.
