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He wasn’t dead. I watched his chest move.

I passed this guy on my walk near the river the other day. He hadn’t even bothered to move his bike off the path. When I approached him, I noticed he was only sleeping – not wounded or dying. My guess – he was lucky enough to pass out on the grass rather than falling onto the pavement.

I wondered if I should call the police, but decided against it because they would have only taken him to the drunk tank. I’ve been to the drunk tank. There’s not a lot to be learned in there. It’s a cement cell with a cement door – worse than jail.

Interestingly enough, the day after I passed this guy, I encountered a young woman sitting in the exact same spot. I couldn’t take her picture though because she was alert. She was crying, smoking a cigarette, and rummaging through all the items from her purse that she’d spread out around her in the grass. She was sitting next to two bikes even though she was alone.

I wondered what was so special about this spot that it would attract the likes of these two folks. There had to be some attraction to it, but for the life of me I couldn’t detect what that might be. The spot was just a bunch of dry prickly grass next to the bike trail. It wasn’t even shadowed by a tree.

That spot has been unoccupied since I passed the woman, but the bike path runs through the city of Eugene, which is notorious for it’s massive homeless and drugged up population. The path is always a source of strange entertainment and it runs the length of the Willamette River through town.

The Willamette River

Best to walk it with a buddy at night time.

Published by Jennifer

I've finally found my happy place in sobriety. Yay! Go Me!

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