Downtown Eastside -a few stories

The man leaned back, and back the shop window was there as a support but he seemed not to experience its rigidity. His knees were half bent as if he was on a barstool, no stool was there for him. His hands closed, upturned and outstretched in a mockery of adoration. His eyes half closed and unseeing except whatever images were playing behind them. He leaned further and some reflex propelled him forward to start his inclined, backward falling once again. It was not yet 9am.

Another across the street at a different time, bowed low on his knees, his forehead on the wet sidewalk, feet off the ground and hands clenched touching down at his sides. And then the gut wrenching groan escaped his lips, or was it the only prayer he knew?

Later that night and ambulance, lights flashing, makes a u-turn on Hastings and stops by the sidewalk. The paramedics emerge and slowly don their plastic gloves, retrieve their kit bags from the side of the vehicle and approach a man lying flat on his back across two sidewalk shop blankets. They attempt to rouse him, shake his arms, he’s alive but requires Narcan. I did not wait to see if it spoilt his ‘high’.

I just met a lady on the bus she complained of sore knees and so I offered to pray. Letting her know the love that God had for her. She said they felt better and then announced she was reading a book by Joyce Meyer and had reached the chapter on receiving forgiveness, I asserted its importance as she got up to leave the bus.

Another lady dressed as Superman with joke shop eyes on slinky springs picked herself up out of the gutter as the Number 20 bus approached beeping its horn. She cadged a trip on the bus – shouting after a friend who may or may not have been there, went to find a seat.

Oh the joys and pain of staying here for a short time.