Camper

I took a short walk along the bicycle path that runs beside the river during a break in the rain. You can smell where the sewage overflow enters the river. If you somehow miss the smell, there's a city sign marking the intersection. Right there on the river bank is a makeshift shelter made of pallets, plywood, tarps and canvases. It looks like a single room house and it's more than tall enough to stand in. I noticed several other hooches down in that area built in among the old industrial foundations and ruins. Ramshackle combinations of tents, tarps and blankets.

Later, I was leaving for the day, it had been raining steadily for hours and was about 40 degrees. A woman was panhandling at the intersection very close to the encampment. She wore a hooded jacket, but she was soaked to the skin and shivering. I remembered times like that - cold, wet, and miserable with the feeling that absolutely everything is relentlessly opposing you. No relief in sight. No way to get warm or dry. Bleak.

When I stopped at the light, I handed her a five dollar bill.  It felt like kind of a lot when I removed it from my wallet. She thanked me and told me she'd ask Jesus to bless me every time I happened to cross her heart in the future. She smiled - broken teeth, manic blue eyes, rain streaming off of her hood.

That five dollar bill suddenly seemed embarrassingly small.