This is what I would like to attempt with those "kids"... the kind of book I would love to publish....

I didn't do much yesterday for Cinco de Mayo. Took the bus with my boi to his work, and then went to the parc with my snake.

Osiris, my ball python, was just the happiest yesterday at the Parc. I sat down with the street kids, I know a few of the old skool ones that have been living in the Golden Gate parc for years and I had the occasion to meet a couple of the younger kids that come and go.

Blue was there, it had been about 5 months that I hadn't seen him, it was nice to talk with him.... he had just gotten out of the hospital because someone beat him down to steal his bike... Shitty life.

Most of the kids spent the day playing and cuddling Osiris... I swear that little guy loves attention ! I should really take him out more often.

Anyway, I met a couple of the newer kids. One of the girls, Pinkie (she has her hair dyed pink) just sat on my lap all afternoon cuddling me and asking me to be her girlfriend... GOD these kids need affection, they're all pretty much always hugging and touching each other. I understand why though, it's pretty much the only nice thing that happens in their life.

Blue was flirting with me all afternoon but he knows I have a boyfriend and is really respectful, although the way he talks doesn't show it ! It's maybe silly, but I feel safer when I hang out with those street kids than with most "normal" people I know. Once you are in their "family" nothing bad can happen to you. They will watch your bag/animals/beer for hours on end and never move until you come back, because they know how important your stuff is. They will share their last bite of food, their shirt, or their last cigarette with anybody from "the family" even though they might be hungry or freezing as hell. I would trust them much more easily than anybody else. But of course if you do not know them, you better not leave your bag too close to where they are.

Here's something I wrote a year ago when I started hanging out with them at the beginning :

~~Hippie Hill~~

The kids ( I've always called them that, might they be 5 or 70y/o) are all lounging on the grass... most of them chain smoking cigarettes that they begged from strangers. I almost sat on the spot Gargoyle -the dog- just sprayed... one of the kids did. They do not care, they wear baggy jeans; dirty t-shirts they use to whipe their bodys with, that claim the names of dark and bloody music groups; hooded sweatshirts with rips in them, that they sew back together with bits of differents colored threads; and multiple accesories that passes as jewery, but that is much more utile in a fight than in anything else. Their nails are filthy with grim and dirt and their hair is coming into dreads because they haven't washed it in such a long time. I hug every single one of them all the same... I do not care if my new pin-stripe work pants get a little dirt or spit on them, I do not care if my $10 shirt that looks elegant and raffined in their midst becomes soiled and un-wearable... I hug them.

They grin at everyone who passes by and stare at you, whistling at the top of their lungs hopping it will shock you. Their eyes are guarded even if you come to them as a friend... but their hands are vultures with a mind of their own : "Bring food, please, we spend all our money on drugs... or give us money so we can forget that we are hungry... what you see, you might not like, but at least we are honest about it... give... give... give... please ?"

I've been called "ma'm" by a girl about my age, I've been called "little sister" and "rosy seasons" by all of them... some of them even know to call me "Luna" if they really want me to get them something. I've been admired, reverred and loved like a Goddess that came upon them to save them and excuse all of their sins... and at the same time I'm their "little sister" the one that is different, but still understands them... the little white sheep in the pack of wolves. The one that stoops down to their level and isn't afraid of dirt and sadness...

I talk to them and understand them, I get food and water for the ones that can't get out of a bad trip, I listen and play music with them and I rant about how unfair life is... but mostly I listen to them.

I wonder myself why I do all this, why do I befriend only out-casts and mostly poor children on the streets....

The city loves it's children here, all it's children from 2 to 100 y/o, she loves them and keeps them in her streets, she will never let them go since she loves them so much... She watches them grow and purveys to them until they die. The city hates to see one her street-smarts turn into the new boss of an up-coming company. That's why she teaches them the way of drugs and how panhandling can get you the vodka you need to forget...

So many stray kids in the park, they cuddle up next to each other, exchange kisses and hugs, sex when they need it... it's the best sort of comfort, for a few minutes or even a few hours if you're lucky, you can forget that you are not alone, you can forget that nobody thinks you good enough... you can even believe that somebody loves you...

They believe in each other and they protect each other. It always makes me happy to see how much they would go through to help one of theirs. Even myself, when I arrived crying at the park, up-town girl that needed to mix with the "others" to finally feel accepted and loved... they all protected me and cheered me up, they all loved me.

And I still wonder why I love them so much, why do I try to make them happier so much. I give hugs and comfort, I give food and smiles, and cigarettes, but mostly, mostly, I listen... I spend hours listening.

Listening to the little girl that ran away from home and thinks that living in the park, catching colds and experiencing for the first time "mushrooms" is the best thing that ever happened to her -I'm only glad when listening to her, that she hasn't tried heroin for the first time at least for the time being-... Listening to Red, always pushing his shopping cart and talking about "his times" and getting overly drunk and falling asleep on the bench.... Listening to Crain, telling me that if you hear three times the same song it will kill you and gloating about the way he just made a perfect shot in the waste basquet with the remnants of a McDonald bag... after 30 tries...

And even as I write this, I still wonder how come I do not have up-town friends, why, when I meet one of those preppy rich person, I cannot stand their monotonous talk about how they went to school in the best neighbourhoods, how they never got hit on by anyone, because they were the bullies, the ones that had parents that had money, the ones that didn't get their hair cut by their grand-mother.

I think I am more like these kids, the street-smarts... I may have never gotten into a fight, and I might not be the best panhandler in the world... but I understand their pain, I understand their anger, I understand more than they could ever hope I did. And I've been so lucky in this life, I've been able to actually get a wonderful job without having any previous experience, I've been able to graduate school early... I have a roof over my head, even if it's a tiny one... and now I want to help them.

Most people tell me that I'm loosing my time with those kids, that most of them don't want help, that I'm just going to break my heart again and again trying to help them... But I can't help myself, some of them are so smart, the younger ones could do so much of their lives... I just can't give up because it's going to be hard and I'm going to fail most of the time... What if there is one in there that I can help out even just a bit ??

I don't know... maybe it's just wishful thinking...