Paul on Church day before Thanksgiving

Not happy. Still upset about the car hitting him. Didn’t want to go to hospital.

I lost my gloves while talking with him and two other guys. Hope somebody who needed them picked them up.

Paul likes the street. He has friends. Some people take advantage of him, stealing his things. Heard some young kids had beaten him up a few months back. He complains about the issues he cannot affect, like the government not wanting to take care of people who don’t want to take care of themselves or the police who don’t want to keep helping him because they have other things to do or the hospitals who cannot make him feel better because he has so many wounds, self-inflicted and otherwise.

He wants help, but doesn’t think he needs much. Wants out of Burlington, but has no place to go. Well, he has some places, but isn’t domesticated enough to handle it. He doesn’t realize humanly speaking, he cannot just go from the street to a residence without some training and without taking some responsibility. Besides, he needs to detox, alcohol and who knows.

“I spoke with your sister.” “Why doesn’t she come and get me.” “Not going to happen. What’s the next choice?” “I want to go to Oregon and live with my brother.” “Not going to happen either, at least not until you get settled and clean up. Another idea.” “I don’t like people making decisions for me.”

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.

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