Summer is cold in Berkeley and tramps are everywhere. They’re homeless, today two people got mugged, and I feel slightly faded. Maybe its because a morning event got me down, and nothing could be done to put that refreshed feeling of waking up rested back in be again.

Days have been passed with classes, readings, shopping and random walking. Watching men hold signs and try to protest laser-beam terrorism, fellow schoolmates try and get me to help fund their efforts to divert nuclear weapon investment into helping the homeless sitting at every corner with a dog, not begging merely asking. They may be poor but they retain human’s most precious possession – dignity.

Nights are spent doing work, when the sun goes down and police vans patrol the area and the hobos begin their partying.

The air is chilly in the morning and evening and I cannot begin to imagine what it feels like to sleep in the open with the sky as my blanket and the grass as my bed, a rip in my pants and a shirt worn so thin it’s like my death cloak each time the wind blows. I sympathize, but it’s all I can do. But is that really all I can do.

Saviour of the broken, there’s that death parade and of course work to be done. Speak to me in my sleep because I’m listening though I’m deaf.

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