Springtime in The Hammer

Photo of young people on King Street at James North.

As the snow melts, and the birds chirp, and the cigarette butts wash into the storm drains, there's a sense that the city is coming back alive. The people are emerging from their houses, offices, and homeless shelters to take back the streets with their long beards, their pink mohawks, and their cardboard signs.

Out of tune guitars are strummed behind  upside down hats with some nickels and dimes tossed in, along with the occasional cigarettes. Cigarettes are the currency of the streets.

Today I saw a guy leave the homeless shelter near my bus stop in a hurry. He was visible angry, so much so that he pushed over a shopping, causing it to crash down - spilling empty cans all over the already littered sidewalk. He stormed up the street, stopped and sat on a bench directly across the street from me. He proceeded to cry.

I couldn't hear him over the traffic, but it was obvious. His head in his hands, his body shook as he struggled to breathe over what I can only assume were sobs. A young guy walked by him, and noticed the state he was in, and looked over to check to see if he was okay. The crying man leapt to his feet as is he was going to punch him. The innocent pedestrian threw his hand up in a peace sign to tell the broken man that he meant no harm. The guy returned to his bench and continued to cry.

It was a shocking event - both scary and saddening. I know I write about these people like they're a punch line in my joke of a blog, but sometimes the things I witness at bus stops, walking down the streets, and on the bus are the most human things I will ever see.

No facades. Just a man who lost everything sobbing on a bench because there's no where else to go.