THE VAGRANT

He's living large on the 53rd floor of the Salesforce tower in downtown San Francisco. After squatting in a former executive's office for nearly a year, THE VAGRANT says he's pretty sure he's never leaving. 

"Now that the elevators finally went out, I hardly ever get visitors," he says. "I haven't been below the 30th floor myself in months. No need to. The plumbing works and I've got all my needs met by my rep. This place is a real sanctuary for people like me."

Then, under his breath, he mutters, "Like seeds among the thorns…"

Every week, the cops used to come and make me move my shit. I had it all set up down there behind the freeway entrance ramp. It was a lot to move, because I had a lot of free shit. 

The Mormons gave me the tent. I had shoes and blankets from the Catholics. And I always ate good at the Islamic Community Center. 

The Hare Krishnas only ever gave me a copy of the Bhagavad Gita, and then they got mad when I didn't make a donation. (Laughs.) 

But yeah, man. These same two cops would come and make me move every Tuesday or Wednesday. I'd pack up all my shit, camp somewhere else for the night, then move back to the same spot until they came again the next week. 

One week, they didn't show up. That was the same day the reps started really spreading through the city. I thought, okay, these cops must have bigger problems. 

For a while, I was happy just to not be bothered. But then I thought, why don't I get one of those reps? I started walking around neighborhoods asking people if they could make me one. 

Sure enough, a Jewish man in his garage was handin' them out as fast as he could assemble them. 

I hauled that thing back to my spot behind the freeway entrance, and damned if it didn't work. Turns out it needed electricity. (Laughs.) 

Hey man, don't judge me for that. I figured if this thing could make shit outta nothing, it might work based on nothing too. 

I snooped around and found a nearby building with an electrical outlet on it. In the mornings I would sneak over, hook my rep up, and print out all kinds of shit for myself. 

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I was livin' big. 

Well, that didn't last but a few days. The owner of the building called the cops on me, and they came and threw me into a car. One of them was like, "Hey, man, we're just doing our jobs." 

And I said, "Yeah, but you picked this job." 

They didn't say anything to that. Just took me straight to the "shelter." Which, by the way, was actually a repurposed insane asylum. 

Tell me about the shelter. 

It was awful. 

They didn't let anybody have reps. They said we couldn't be trusted with 'em. 

But three times a day we could submit orders for things. Any type of food or book or little thing like that. They'd print it off for you. Then you could sit around in your room and fuck off until the next mealtime came along. 

In some ways, it was better than being homeless. But there were too many fuckin' crazy people in there, man. People hollering and screaming at all hours of the night. They didn't try to separate those folks from people like me. They were just throwing everybody into the same conditions. Didn't matter if you were a druggie, or a maniac, or just somebody down on their luck. You got treated the same as everybody else. Which is to say, not too bad, because they took care of you. But you couldn't leave. And every day was so monotonous. 

I was only there for three weeks and I thought I was gonna go crazy myself. 

They let you out after three weeks?

Well, sort of. The shelter had its funding cut. So they threw all of us back out on the street. 

Right away, I started hearing rumors about how lots of other homeless were squatting in some of the nicest abandoned offices in the city. A lady told me that she and some friends each had rooms all to themselves in the big Salesforce tower. I went over to check it out. 

I've been livin' here ever since.

Hey… you ever read the Bible?

Just a little bit.

Give it a shot sometime. And look up Matthew 13:12—"For whoever has, to him more will be given, and he will have abundance; but whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken away from him."

THE VAGRANT falls silent, gets up, strolls over to his rep, and prints out a pack of cigarettes.

He lights up, and pauses at one of the wraparound windows that looks out over the bay.

I've been thinkin' about that verse. And trying to reconcile it with the idea that there used to be some guy who claimed this beautiful office as his own. And yet he lost it to a wretch like me. (Laughs)

What do you think? 

How do you reconcile it, Mr. Vondersnitch?