lessons from a street waif – don’t fall through the cracks, transcend them

The benefactor:
Sometimes people know that you are homeless. If you are young, and perhaps very pretty or have some kind of odd feature that is attractive, a more affluent potential protector may make it known that he wants to save you. (Again, sometimes a protector may be a she, but a he is more common). He may have a wife and even a daughter your very own age. He has all the best intentions for you – clean clothes, a warm bed, a shower, food. He might even take you shopping and out to a fancy restaurant . . .

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Flash (R)evolution

I am moving house. Well, apartment to house. Still renting, but I am spreading out, sort of.

Whenever I move I find stuff – lots of writing especially. I write a lot, but it doesn’t mean I type it, or file it properly, or share it.

The discipline is in the order, not the action for me. I don’t know when I wrote this, I suspect right before moving to Arizona, 2006/2007, while I was leaving my husband and living in a basement in Brooklyn.

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academic paper that touches on (living in) the streets

I can look the part, and I certainly have the required credentials to fit in, but I feel a creepy sensation under my skin when I drive to work everyday to sit at a desk and push paper around for a bureaucratic system.

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