The Governors Inn on Richards is a nice place, all in all. It is located north of downtown, just off the interstate just before it crosses the river. The neighborhood is a typical mid-to-upscale interstate exit, at first glance an apparently nice bit of contemporary California road culture. There are five or six discount and mid-range hotels. with a pleasant gas station convenience store as well as a Denny's, all of recent vintage.
There are also many, many homeless people---mostly men, mostly middle age or older, of all races. The few women are usually with a man, in a pair or larger group. There are sometimes younger folk, and sometimes an apparent family.
One sees them on the sidewalks all around the exit, and also in the lush park down at the confluence of the American and the Sacramento rivers---homeless men in groups fishing as the Mexicans go by on the river in pleasure crafts, blasting thumping accordion music.
You can get to the park from the motels via the old truss bridge across the American, closed off to all but park-bound traffic and pedestrians.. It is quite pleasant and bucolic on a weekend afternoon. The solitary homeless men are the dominant population there, but you only notice after being there a while.
They meander in isolation by the Mexican families out for a weekend picnic, and the retired folk who come over from the motel cluster, in pairs and large groups, and the yuppie joggers. They sit on the banks and stare out into the river, just like yours truly.
At sundown this time of year it is indeed a splendid view from the confluence. From the pointed bluff where the rivers meet, one can see down the thick forested banks of the Sacramento towards the petite modern skyline of downtown.
If one is to be homeless, then short of being on the coast itself, Sacramento is a very good place. It has a good climate for being outdoors much of the year---mild in both the winter and summer.
Moreover it an abundance of trees along big wide rivers, perfect for clandestine camping.
Moreover is the capital of California. Apparent the social services network gives out transit passes to let folks ride for free. One guy with a massively long beard got on the tram when I was coming from the capitol. He sat across from in an otherwise empty train car. When he started coughing, I felt obliged to move to another car.
From the Governors Inn, simply to cross the boulevard to get to the Denny's, one inevitably passes perhaps half a dozen homeless folk on the sidewalk, some waiting for the bus, others begging for change at the stoplight by the convenience store.
From a car's perspective they are mostly invisible, except when they are begging. But on foot they are quite noticeable as being ubiquitous.
On my second night there, as I walk to Denny's, I struggled in a resolve to treat each person as individual human being, worthy of that kind of respect.
Inside Denny's the crowd is thin but it takes a long time before I am seated. The lone waitress is very busy and backed-up.
I sit in almost the same booth as I did the first night, and order the same omelette as well. After my dinner arrives, and I'm half way through the meal, I see over by the cash register, a young homeless man who has come into the restaurant.
He is short, of slight build, and is dressed in dirty street clothes, wearing a dirty green jacket and a green winter hat.. He is toting an enormous black duffel backpack, which seems as large as his entire torso.
His eyes are seemingly closed. He is weaving back and forth, in a slow staggering rhythm. He totters as if he is about to top over, then staggers back the other direction.
He is also holding a printed ticket for a to-go order that he has evidently already paid for.
He staggers in and out of my view this way. After a few minutes the waitress gives his order in a to-go box. When he gets it, he carries it over to a booth along the same window as me, a few booths away. After he sits down I can't see him anymore.
Later as I am finishing my meal, when the waitress brings the check, I notice that at another booth, at the far end of the row along the window, near when the homeless guy had gone, there is another man---middle aged, wearing a v-neck sweater and nice black leather jacket, as well as a gold chain.
He is leaning over the back of his booth, facing towards me. His holding up a cell phone and taking a picture into the booth right next to him.
He is grinning as he does this. A woman's voice from the booth is laughing and telling him half-heartedly to sit back down. He disappears for a while, then pops back up again to take more photos.
At that point, I get up to leave with my check. As I walk up to the counter, I can see the homeless guy in a right by the register booth, He is hunched forward, unconcious, with his face smashed into the meal he has ordered. His nose is pressed right into the short stack.
I stop and watch him until I can tell that he is still breathing. By this time the waitress has taken notice. She is on the house phone, calmly punching the buttons of a telephone number.
The guy in the leather jacket and his girlfriend are in the booth right next to him. As I'm standing there, they also get up to pay their check as well. They stagger in their own giggling way, from all the fun they are having. The guy in the leather jacket looks at me, grinning.
For an instant, our eyes meet and I can read his thought. He wants me to give him the high sign of approval, a confirmation of his interpretation of the situation, to say back to him isn't this such a riot?
But I begin hoping hard that he doesn't say anything to me, because if does, I'm going to look right back into his eyes and say with my gunfighter voice, as far as I can see, there's only one freak show here tonight, and I'm looking right at them.
But the truth is that I too wanted to take a picture of the homeless man with my cellphone. But I didn't. Instead I wrote a blog post about it.
And seeing him reminded me that I too was carrying an over-laden backpack on my own travels. Gotta watch that shoulder.
Watch that heavy load, y'all.
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