James and Stinky — Dec. 15, 2022

John Agliata

10 months ago

🧩 Today’s Puzzle Pieces 🧩
STL’s Homeless 😥
Snake Hoo-Hoos 🐍
That Was Epoch 👴

I found James huddled underneath a blanket as he sat, knees to his chest, head bowed, just outside the doorway of a CVS in the Delmar Loop section of St. Louis. If you’re not familiar with the area, it’s a fun place filled with good restaurants, bars, shops and entertainment venues.

It’s also a place homeless people sometimes hang out. James was one of those such people.

It was a foul, nasty evening last night. The temperature hung around 40 as whatever sun had managed to seep through the clouds disappeared, and rain fell at a seemingly random pace — hard, soft, sheets, hard, harder, buckets, soft, harder, hardest. I parked my car, grabbed one of the bags of care items I’d assembled to give to homeless people whom I encountered, and opened the door.

I was immediately met by a wave of water splashed from the tires of a passing car. When I was a kid, we use to call that kind of splash a “whale” and encourage Father Dearest to ride the Jeep closer to the edge of the road after a downpour so he’d kick up a mighty spray.

That was fun. This wasn’t fun. It was even less fun of an evening for James.

No part of James was visible as I approached. He was just a lump of blankets, and as I watched while feeling gutter water trickle down my soaked jeans, numerous people walked by without a glance, without slowing down, without stopping. I approached with caution, not wanting to startle him.

“Hey brother. You OK under there?” I said. There was a pause, and I thought I was going to feel mighty foolish for talking to what actually was a pile of old blankets. But no. There was a human being under there. I watched as he raised his head, his brown eyes peering out from the cover.

“Hey. Yeah, I’m alright.”

“My name is John,” I said.

“James,” he replied.

“Here. Take this. I wish it were more.”

“Thanks, man. That’s cool. I appreciate it,” he said, retreating back under the blanket.

That started my evening of driving around St. Louis looking for people to give these bags to. It had been something I’d wanted to do for awhile. I started a Go Fund Me in November that had a goal of raising $500. We came up just short of that, but the generous donations of really good people allowed me to buy supplies that filled 11 bags, with extras of a lot of things for future bags. There’s food, warm socks, gloves, hand warmers, personal hygiene items, a handwritten card and more.

The bags have been sitting in my car for weeks. Yes, life’s been a bit busy, but the truth is, it’s fear that’s kept me from doing what I did last night. Like I’ve written about before, I was raised to fear the homeless. They were Bad People who’d made Bad Decisions, and we certainly didn’t give stuff to such people.

That’s just not how I feel anymore.

Last night, I encountered five people beyond James to give bags to. All were thankful, polite, appreciative. There was an element of shock, I think, on a few faces when I drove up and rolled down my window or approached on foot with a bag in hand and a kind word. By the Soldiers Monument in downtown STL, I saw a man wrapped in a blanket around his shoulders walking somewhat in the roadway. I pulled over, got out, and went toward him. He saw me and let me guide him out of the street and toward the park. It was obvious that he wasn’t well, that he was either hearing voices or seeing things that weren’t there. I asked him if he was OK, and he replied with, “My name is Stinky.”

I smiled and replied, “Well that doesn’t sound like a good name. You don’t stink to me,” to which he replied, “You musta caught me on a good day.” When I gave him a bag, he walked away into the park, then turned around and came back with an extended fist. Being a dumb white kid from the suburbs, I didn’t know what he wanted.

“Dap it, man,” he said. Duh. So I did. Knucks, as Boy The Elder used to call it.

My ultimate goal is to write a book based on these encounters. I plan to hang out longer and talk to people about their stories. These are human beings, and the weather is only getting worse. High temps next week aren’t expected to crack 20, with negatives for lows.

I drove back to St. Charles County and my rural Missourah hometown. I was hungry, so I stopped at Sugarfire, a slammin’ BBQ place 15 minutes from my humble country abode. It felt weird … walking into a restaurant, ordering a beer and some ribs, getting warm, watching the Knicks play the Bulls on the TV in my booth. I thought about James. I thought about Stinky. I thought about the other guys I met so briefly.

We like to think our nation is great, and I accept the arguments of those who defend it as special. I just don’t see it, and I sure as hell didn’t see it last night. We need to do better in seeing the humanity behind those who we walk past like they aren’t there.

help homeless

Scientists have discovered female snakes have clitorises. Or is it clitori? Whatever. The point is this: Some smart people are all up in the hoo-hoos of freaking death adders.

This discovery is, apparently, meaningful because there was the assumption that all snake sex was coercive, which is animal-kingdom talk for “snake rape.” But the presence of a clitoris, at least according to these scientists, means that, and I quote, “Now we can consider whether mating in snakes is not about coercion but instead about stimulation and seduction.”

OK then.

snake

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