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「あの頃みたいに」って 戻りたいわけじゃないの 無くしてきた空を探してる
Apr. 26th, 2009 01:47 pmMill Avenue has a lot of homeless people.
I guess what's worth noting, and what differentiates it from the normal campus panhandlers, is that most of the homeless youth congregate there. It's Tempe's equivalent of Haight-Ashbury. Lot of dreadlocks, ratty black shirts and knit caps. Usually when I am hit up for change I either a) really don't have any or b) lie, like everybody else. I used to be much more of a soft touch, but I've turned into more of a cynical bitch, I guess.
Throw kittens into that, though, and I become a total sap.
I share the same sentiment as many people in this regard--I tend to have less pity for adults whom I see as having at least partially contributed to their own circumstances (in this economy I'm more sympathetic), but children and animals are innocent parties. I also know it is a common ploy to garner our sympathies for this very reason--have a little kid or a cute animal clearly under your care, and your influx of change will skyrocket.
Whatever. I guess I fell for it. It was a kitten, okay?
There was a young girl--seemed about my age--with a head-full of dreads and a gray baby kitten in her lap. The little guy could not have been more than a month old--just old enough to have recently had his eyes open. He was tethered to her wrist by a rudimentary choke-collar formed from a washer and some pale yellow twine. He was still in the all-ears all-paws all-eyes stage of fucking adorable. And he had a broken tail.
The girl said that his name was Radar, and that she had rescued him from a friend who was taking poor care of him. I stroked his crown with a forefinger. His fur was downy, and he looked almost exactly like Ziggy at that age. Of course, once I put Ziggy in his place, I was hooked. Mom said that one of the reasons she switched from pediatrics was that after having her own children, she kept placing us in the circumstances of dying children, and it was too psychologically painful--I guess it's the same thing.
So, of course, I give over a dollar (I really had little else), with the stipulation that she take care of the little guy. She seemed genuinely grateful. I'm still wondering how they are doing.
I did get a lot of positive comments on my suit, both to and from the formal dinner. Nothing on the level of the guy who randomly kissed my hand and told me I was beautiful, but I freaking told you (I'm really not sure who *you* is; everybody who ever doubted me, I guess) that women look good in suits.
I guess what's worth noting, and what differentiates it from the normal campus panhandlers, is that most of the homeless youth congregate there. It's Tempe's equivalent of Haight-Ashbury. Lot of dreadlocks, ratty black shirts and knit caps. Usually when I am hit up for change I either a) really don't have any or b) lie, like everybody else. I used to be much more of a soft touch, but I've turned into more of a cynical bitch, I guess.
Throw kittens into that, though, and I become a total sap.
I share the same sentiment as many people in this regard--I tend to have less pity for adults whom I see as having at least partially contributed to their own circumstances (in this economy I'm more sympathetic), but children and animals are innocent parties. I also know it is a common ploy to garner our sympathies for this very reason--have a little kid or a cute animal clearly under your care, and your influx of change will skyrocket.
Whatever. I guess I fell for it. It was a kitten, okay?
There was a young girl--seemed about my age--with a head-full of dreads and a gray baby kitten in her lap. The little guy could not have been more than a month old--just old enough to have recently had his eyes open. He was tethered to her wrist by a rudimentary choke-collar formed from a washer and some pale yellow twine. He was still in the all-ears all-paws all-eyes stage of fucking adorable. And he had a broken tail.
The girl said that his name was Radar, and that she had rescued him from a friend who was taking poor care of him. I stroked his crown with a forefinger. His fur was downy, and he looked almost exactly like Ziggy at that age. Of course, once I put Ziggy in his place, I was hooked. Mom said that one of the reasons she switched from pediatrics was that after having her own children, she kept placing us in the circumstances of dying children, and it was too psychologically painful--I guess it's the same thing.
So, of course, I give over a dollar (I really had little else), with the stipulation that she take care of the little guy. She seemed genuinely grateful. I'm still wondering how they are doing.
I did get a lot of positive comments on my suit, both to and from the formal dinner. Nothing on the level of the guy who randomly kissed my hand and told me I was beautiful, but I freaking told you (I'm really not sure who *you* is; everybody who ever doubted me, I guess) that women look good in suits.
