Homelessness in Seattle (DRAFT)

The Man on the Sidewalk

Ninety degree heat in the middle of Summer. He's there wrapped in plastic on the University District sidewalk. Belongings scattered all around him. Day after day, he's in the same position. No signs of life.

I walk past toward the 542 stop. His legs blackened, swollen, and marked with open sores. I've never seen his eyes. I've never seen him move.

Weeks go by, now he's a dark stain on concrete. Everything is gone. Pedestrians that knew him best walk around his silhouette. Those that didn't step through his memory until it fades. I'm ashamed to be either person.

How can we be so cold?

Hundreds die on the streets of Seattle. Thousands more are left to suffer with no way out of their situation. How can we be so cold? How can we just look away?

Is it drugs? Mental illness? A lack of ambition? A lack of work ethic? A missing support system? At what point do you say "You've made your bed. Now lie in it and die."

A man lies on a bench at the bus stop with various pieces of clothing draped over him. His wheel chair is parked next to him, with a bag of his belongings on top. It's raining, and the half of his body that's exposed is soaked. A bus comes and goes, and the sound wakes him. His body is withered and frail, and he isn't able to sit up. He extends his arm, asking for help.

A man stood next to him glances down at the movement, then quickly looks back at his phone. He's not the only one. The bus stop is full of people, and no one helps.

Would he have spent that helping hand on his next fix? Or was he helpless, and despite being surrounded by people able to help, completely alone?