This morning, I pulled myself up and struggled with my socks and shoes while marginally navigating my way toward the store that had my needed cup of coffee. I could not sleep as the anticipation of the previous not of today's historic event kept me awake. I descended downtown stairs in an elevator and heard a buzz of noise that was foreign to my ears. The elevator door opened and when I disembarked from it, I noticed that another door leading from the elevator follyeah to the main lobby was closed-an aberration. Faces were behind it. Many faces with no bodies as the door only had a small viewing piece of glass. I opened it and found a long line of people. Ah yes. It was election day and people were in my lobby to vote. I voted in the primary and was not certain if I was allowed to vote. In the primary there was no line. This time there was a line that snaked from the voting room through the lobby and out of the door and extended down the street. It was beautiful to see. Indeed it was an historic day.
I talked with some who were had been on Skid Row for some time. They said that it was the first time that lines were so long. In the past a voter could walk right in, vote and be on their way within minutes.
Yes folks, I voted. I, like many others, believed we couldn't. Well, I found out I could vote. I could participate in this historic day in America.
Living in downtown Los Angeles on a new adventure,
I landed on Skid Row in the month of February,2007, shell shocked and traumatized by the events of the previous months.
I entered a world full of many contrasts. Kind, caring supportive individuals. Cruel, blood sucking predators. Men and women who walk the streets with courageous dignity and those whose job it is to strip them of that dignity every day. A place of quaint warmth and beauty, and at the same time a harsh, cold and vicious jungle. I have experienced the toughest streets of Philadelphia and Harlem, New York as well as the shanty towns and favelas of Brazil. Yet nothing compares to what you feel when you are in Skid Row. Social Scientists from around the world come here to study it. Every social illness has its place in Skid Row. They come to learn about its effect on people. They leave learning more about themselves- their prejudices and the fear of what they do not know. There is nothing like it. This journal is about my experiences at the University of Skid Row.
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