Have a Seat

The benches, stoops and corners of my neighbourhood have largely all been claimed as the established territory of various homeless individuals. I’ve seen many an argument outside the liquor store for that prime location, and the spot in front of the theatre has been turf to the same guy for at least four years. These are the people in my neighbourhood. On my way home from work, I’ll smile or say hi to many of these individuals, regardless of whether or not I’ve got change to spare. After living in the same spot for four years and seeing many of these faces on a daily basis, these people are my neighbours and it’s hard not to feel the occasional pang at the difference in lifestyle a city block can encompass.

There is one individual, though, for whom I’ve rarely spared a smile. This isn’t a fact that I state with pride, but it is the truth. His desparation scares me and makes me want to turn and look in the opposite direction so that I can avoid imagining the reality of his life. He’s a huffer and he sits on a bench by the subway station. His face is stained from the constant inhalation of noxious fumes and his speech, when he bothers, is an incomprehensible mumble. He shakes constantly and can barely hold up the empty coffee can he uses to gather his earnings. I’ve never contributed. Not out of a moral indignation that any money I give him is likely to end up being sniffed away. I’m not really concerned what someone does with the alms I provide. I walk away feeling good and they do with it as they see fit. That’s the deal, no strings attached. With the huffer though, I just don’t want to get close enough to help out. I give him a wide berth.

Today, on my way to the TTC station, I noticed that he wasn’t at his usual spot. Rather, two teenagers were sitting on his bench, talking loudly and smoking cigarettes. They looked so sure of themselves, so above it all, that they instantly annoyed me. I could hear their vapid exchange of “what she said” punctuated by f-words and other colourful language and it grated on my nerves. Then, before the fire of annoyance could fully ignite itself in my belly, a memory rose to the surface. In my mind’s eye, I saw the huffer, only days ago, seated at that bench, a stream of urine pooling below him. I didn’t have to get annoyed. They were sitting in pee. I walked by and smiled to myself making a mental note to drop something into that coffee can the next time I see him.