I trudged on and decided to take a right turn into some brush that appeared like a potential nest. Finally, I saw signs someone had stayed there — soggy, faded pages of pornography. I edged in a little deeper to see a soup can, a Reynolds Wrap box and an empty bottle of King Cobra malt liquor alongside, curiously enough, a dumped box of business cards. I took some more pictures, shinned up the incline to 19th Street, got in my car and headed back to the office to post something on my blog.
As I idled at a red light on Harbor I saw a young mom and her daughter hurrying to get across the street. Strangely, the woman wasn’t holding the toddler’s hand as the little girl struggled to keep a step or two behind mom. Then she dropped her doll and stopped to pick it up. The light would change soon, I thought. Mom noticed right away, picked up the doll and finally grabbed the girl’s hand and rushed the rest of the way to the curb. I got a little choked up at that image of the mother’s protective impulse, however belatedly, emerge. It seemed like an apt metaphor for how we treat the homeless: We catch them when it’s nearly too late.
