|
A pile of rags stirs as the early pinks and magentas of dawn snake
through the shadowy dumpsters, skeletal shopping carts and debris.
Steam rises gently from deposits of human excrement and urine. Day
inflicts reality quickly as the flotsam-folks of the urban holocaust
feel their stomachs cry out for survival and life kicks them in the ass
one more time. Horrible, wracking coughs accent the sounds of early
morning in the alley of despair.
In desperation alley are dreams and hopes; a confusing sense of family and war; a rough comradery; dying--even birthing. Then "cometh the Roofman." Homeless, he has set up a kingdom on a rooftop. From his aerie, he rules his shabby serfdom with an iron hand. He owns the lives in desperation alley. The war in the alleys is one of survival--the Roofman holds the concession. In the Roofman's domain, life is very cheap: not much of a commodity, and hinges on where one fits in his heirarchy. Payment is stiff for any privilege, and life is a privilege, not a right. That which others discard means survival to life's throwaway people. To the Roofman and his keepers, it's just another marketable commodity. First come the can-reclaimers, then the bottle collectors, finally, the paper-pickers--all pay dearly for the scavenging they do. When they are finished, and only when they are finished, the rest can hope for something to sell, barter, wear or eat. Next to drugs, even above sex, the most profitable concession is the coffinesque condo concession: exposed storage lockers rented to the desperately disposessed, for more than they can afford, for a meager portion of security, warmth and rest. COMETH THE ROOFMAN chronicles the homeless of urban America: those who care, those who exploit, those who ignore ... those who are. Hope and horror go hand in hand in desperation alley. There but for the grace of God, go you and I. |