Les SDFs

In the Jardin du Luxembourg, I found myself staring at two lovers on a bench. I would have called it "making out", but that seems such an un-French phrase, so perhaps I will say that they were kissing and caressing.

I was jealous, embarrassed, and sad, in that order. Also I was feeling something else, something that people would call being happy for them. But I think that was just a mask to hide the green envy. I wondered if the homeless men on 57th Street felt happy for the students who chatted and joked as they ignored the men and went in to eat burgers at the Med. They would eat the whole burger even though they were full after eating only half. I know because I did the same thing.

There was one time, during Passover. I try to talk to them, at least, to acknowledge their existence. People have a right to exist, to take up space and block the path of photons. But I said I didn't have any change, which may or not have been true. I went in and, on account of the holiday, ordered a burger with the bun on the side. I was eating alone so I ate fast. When I was done I took the bun, planning to give it to the man outside. When I got out the door, he was gone.

I was surprised at the homeless people in Paris. In France, whose love of acronyms is second only to the Pentagon, homeless people aren't homeless, they're SDF - sans domicile fixe or "without fixed domicile". Just letters. Like racism, homelessness is not part of the black and white Paris. It's not part of the cabarets.

Now some organizations have been giving homeless people tents. The idea is that, by being visible, they will force the government to act. While I was there I saw a few tent cities - sometimes called Quixote cities after a homeless rights group the Children of Don Quixote - near the northern railroad station.

Of course, the homeless were visible before the tents. They were on the metro, on the streets, on the buses. And they laughed. The wine - which even they could afford - helped I'm sure. But still, I was amazed at how they laughed. Unlike the guys on 57th street, who were either incredibly polite or cursed people out, these people laughed as they drank and slept God knows where.