His suffering, and my good fortune

Poor smell, poor hygiene, perhaps poor health ... all not good for the individual, and sometimes problematic for others.

I was on the BART once, in the mid-eighties, with a friend, going from San Francisco to Oakland for a Grateful Dead show, I think it was. There was a man sleeping toward the back of a car, no one around him, he was bundled up in a parka and a watch cap, arms wrapped around his chest, head down, the look of homelessness about him, and as we walked passed him I was stunned, almost literally stunned like a blow to the head, by the smell — like nothing I had experienced before — a jump-cut horror scare from the nose to the hindbrain: Flee! Flee!

Of course I did not flee, I kept walking. Later I drank too much blackberry brandy at the Grateful Dead show, and struggled to keep my balance on those steep arena steps. But to this day I remember that man; have remembered him many times over the decades; have reflected on his suffering, and on my good fortune.

• Comment @ Facebook (18 June 2025)