No jokes. Not being funny this time. This is true. It happened this evening and it just about broke my heart. But in a good way.


So I'm sitting in my car in Silverlake waiting for a gig to start. Now, I'm early so I'm just sitting there on the side of the street listening to some music and writing some jokes. Next to where I am is an old run down auto repair place. It's closed and there are a couple of mangy old German shepherds wandering around the chain link fenced yard. There's concrete, some old cars and a water bowl but other than that not much. They have each other and their not chained up but I became quite distressed when I realized these were not well cared for dogs.

They looked thin. Not starving but not seen to. Matted fur and gaunt legs they looked old but also forgotten. I hate stuff like that. I try and pretend things like this don't go on in the world because if I let myself think about all the horrible injustices practiced every day I fear I would simply collapse under the saddness. I was once told I had a hyper sense of empathy. No, thanks to being raised by wonderful people I've got just the right amount of respect for life and just the right amount of disgust for injustice.

So I'm thinking. Do I call animal control? Would that really be any better. They'd be seperated and I don't know if LA has no kill shelter rules for animals. I think they do but I don't want to risk it. Plus, this isn't my place to pry and the animals did seem healthy enough I guess. And like I said they have each other and that comfort seems to go a long way. That's when I saw something that almost made me weep.

The dogs started barking. Now, they are gaurd dogs but this wasn't a bark of  intimidation this was a bark of happiness. Almost a welcoming serenade. They both plunged their noses up agains the chain link just about out of my view. Then at the very edge of my perception I spied a pair of shoes being washed off in a puddle. From my vantage point, although I could not see the legs, I knew those shoes had been through many owners and many, many miles. Then this old, maybe sixty five years or so, homeless man wandered into my field of vision and up to the fence. He had a tattered shirt and dark, dark bronze skin. He was losing what was left of his grey greasy hair and as I later found out had about five teeth left in his head.

There's homeless and then there's ridiculously stereotypical homeless. This guy was Calcutta alley way homeless. He didn't even have a cart. What he did have was a paper bag with grease stains in it clutched tightly in his left hand. He got to the fence and it was clear now that this wasn't at all a first time meeting. Far from it. These mangy dogs and this mangy man where fast friends. He produced a small styrofoam container from the bag and proceded to open it. He took out a sandwich, not a large one but definitely big enough to kill his hunger pains for a few hours or more. That's when it happened. He took the sandwich, broke it into two even pieces and gave each dog a piece. They eagerly snatched it up. He spoke to them a bit, I couldn't hear the conversation but I'm sure it wasn't for my ears anyway. This was chit chat over dinner between good friends and I almost felt like I was intruding as it was. He chatted with them for a moment or two and I started to get a little choked up. He seem to be explaining to them that he didn't have any more food right now and that he had to go. He showed them the styrofoam container as proof and then the empty bag to be sure. He accidentally dropped the container but as a sign of respect for his fellows home he picked it up. Pushed the last of the crumbs on the sidewalk within distance of the two eager mouths on the other side of the fence and said his goodbyes.

He crumpled up the now completely empty bag and carried it with him. Presumably to find a trash can as his next task for the evening. I couldn't take it any longer. I got out of my car and walked over to him. Too much of an ass to remove my sunglasses but also not wanting to have to lie about having something in my eye. I stopped him even though I didn't really want to intrude. I gave him what little money I had on me and told him how much I thought he deserved it. Not gushing, just a little well deserved respect. He thanked me. He didn't seem to understand why it mattered so much to me but that's what makes it even more special. It wasn't a big deal. He feeds these dogs twice a day, everyday. Breakfast and dinner. He said the man that owns the place threatened him saying not to feed them because he keeps them hungry so they'll be mean. He said the owner threatened to call the cops on him if he caught him again. The homless man said he threatened to call the guy's mother and tell her how mean spirited and horrible her son was.

He said for god to bless me and then thanked me for buying him dinner. I said it was the least I could do. He looked at the dogs one more time, now resting in the evening sun. I said they loved him. He smiled. He knows that. We parted.

This may not mean a lot to anyone reading this. Nor should it I suppose. It's just that, sometimes we all get so wound up in our lives we forget what stuff like that is. That man has nothing. Nothing. He was the saddest sight I had seen in ages yet he was sharing what little he had with someone in need. We talk about stuff like this all the time and how it's the human spirit etc. But it's not. Sadly the human spirit is what put these three souls in this boat in the first place. Sadly that man has landed well on the wrong side of the bullshit American dream. I don't know what brought him to where he is. I don't know why he's on the street. He may very well have lot's of problems. He may very well have been a bad man in his time. I don't know and frankly I don't care. I don't care because at that time, for that moment, he was just about the best person I ever met. I'm kind of sad writing this but there is a part of me that feels strangely warm. He's on the street. They're in a sort of prison but two times a day, breakfast and dinner, they have each other. And you can't tell me that isn't wonderful.