At the four corners of Union Square in San Francisco there are four hearts and four thousand homeless. There is much more poverty than love, in San Francisco and everywhere else, even if there isn't any reason for that.
Then on Friday evening all those who have a second home somewhere on the beach or the mountains or the desert go away and leave the homeless alone. The parking lots are empty, quiet, sad, beautifully sad. Also the streets become empty.
So you can read better the messages left there for you. It's my life. How do I want to live it?
It's all about me. They want to make me feel important. They are trying to sell me something.
And now that I found love, what else I need? The courage to go for it and embrace it and cherish it and share it and enjoy it, perhaps?
Or maybe I just need a laundry. You bring them your shirts which smell of your body, of dust from the street, of your efforts to be a human being, all of your hopes and dreams. And they give you back clean, no-smell shirts so you can put them in your bag and go somewhere else and start all over again.
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