
Your Homeless Son
Sep 1, 2018 · 2 min read
I saw your son yesterday. Standing on the corner for a brief moment before he jaywalked in front of my car — blue jeans, t-shirt, flip flops stride wide cross the downtown Seattle thorofare, tall frame and wide shoulders, black hair, the curls all wild.
Beauty — I caught a glimpse of beauty beneath the emaciated form — the body torn down by a substance that owns him. Leads him — ring in nose — under the bridge to where he feels OK…


