The wiry lady in leopard skin stretch pants walks like a cowboy. She's wearing high heeled ankle boots. She has a deep smoker's voice and a loud cackle. Her skin is tanned and leathery. Nothing phases her. She's seen it all. She's been walking downtown for years.
Every morning I pass two homeless people sleeping on the concrete slab patio under the pizza restaurant's overhang. They're wrapped in blankets lying on thin blue yoga mats. Next to them is a metal supermarket shopping cart with two yellow cereal boxes and two backpacks.
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