They are deployed by streets parallel to major avenues in groups of three people with a thermos of coffee or hot chocolate and snacks. They crouch in corners and in unlikely corners for a chat. Social volunteers flock like blood to the wound and know where to find them, under cartons or on an old blanket and shivering cold. They are called by their names or any familiar nickname, as did their mothers or their best friends. While heated is hands, just wrapped in colorless mittens, they exchange information of the day. Do not use elaborate phrases, but monosyllables with suffocating ellipsis and eloquent gestures as her silences road to oblivion. Each one is given your time, that you want or need. Says something caught in the transistor or browsed on a newspaper page brought by the wind.
It can be international policy, absurdities of the G8 or the real estate scandal. The homeless, will be marked by the ephemeral. They do not retain too because there is no tomorrow, and yesterday is included in the bundle of life. Alcohol and the tobacco, endless walks through the open veins of the city, in sunrises without direction or in search of food, kept them in a Nebula without noise. Missing mental health centers, many chronic was lost. How birds fallen from nests, wounded in his wings or calloused feet. Lost employment, victims of alcohol or drugs, as a ruthless social body with the unproductive excrescences. Victims of guilt for something they have failed to integrate to become alien themselves.
Thus, they try to melt into the shadows of an uprooted, almost crazed society that deserta streets of the city about to sleep. Now, to wait for neighbouring front lift blinds and let the day, says Paul from its niche in the glassed-in portal of a bank. Each seeks to have its scope of security guard kicks, insults or looks that cross.