Under the Ninth Street Bridge

When I lived in Buffalo, that was the first time I saw real poverty and homelessness. There was the woman who slept in the bus shelters up and down Delaware Avenue. There was Broderick, who begged for change in Lafayette Square. There was the woman and her two kids who were starving and living in a gutted building in Buffalo's West Side. But I never saw people living in tents...until now.

There's an underpass just before you get to the Ninth Street Bridge, also known as the Rachel Carson Bridge. Up against the wall, off to the side of the road, there is a group of people who have tents set up. One guy told me that he was aware of the resources that are out there, but that he wasn't "ready." It's winter. There's snow on the ground. I have been told that there are people out there who choose to be homeless. While this may be the case, there are reasons for that choice. Ultimately, you can't make these people get help. It has to be between them and God.

I can't walk across that bridge anymore, though. Not because I can't look at these people, but also because it's not entirely safe. I'll be taking the bus from now on. Or going across one of the other of the "Three Sisters." Crossing Lacock and Anderson's not safe anyway. The vehicular traffic has little regard for the pedestrians. But I can't be getting approached. I have nothing to give, especially to those who are trying to feed their addictions. There are other ways.