Rufus was visibly shaking at this point, and tears began welling up in his eyes as he continued, "Somebody had shot him, execution-style, in the back of the head. Why would somebody do that? Slim wasn't hurting nobody. Why would they do that?"

I didn't have the answer. So I invited Rufus outside and we both had a cigarette.

We smoked in silence because that's what us manly men do when things get emotional. It's what we call contemplatin'.

[]

Most of the clients don't refer to each other by their birth names. They have street names. Sometimes the nickname refers to a physical attribute the person may have or their approach to life - Stretch, Turtle, Cosmo, Red, Pee-Wee, Doc, Sideburns, Barker, Rock, Baby Face, Judge, or Biggs.

Other times, the street name is meant ironically - Tiny (if he's husky and very tall) or Speedy (if he uses a walker to get around).

At any given time, there are usually two or three "Cowboys" at the shelter. I don't know why this is but imagine it can cause all sorts of confusion.

I try to learn each person's street name whenever possible. That way, if there's trouble or a disagreement between two clients and somebody says something like, "Stretch went off on me and then stormed out of here" I'll know who it is.

Unless I'm told it was "Cowboy" who started the trouble. Then it's back to square one, I'm afraid.

[]

Late one afternoon, this 80-something year old man wanders through the shelter front door. He doesn't know where he is, where he came from, or how he got here.

He has nothing with him but the clothes on his back and the small brown paper bag he's carrying.

About all he remembers is his name: Carl.

I ask him what's in the bag. "It's my lunch," he replies.

I ask if I can see what he has for lunch and Carl opens the bag. It's his medication - in fact, it's a number of meds... including morphine and Dilantin.

I wonder where he orders lunch from, because all I ever get is a hamburger.

Since the shelter has an empty medical rest bed available, I give him the bed. This despite the fact he has no medical referral from a hospital or clinic - which is the usual procedure somebody must go through to get such a bed. Screw procedure. If he wanders off now it's only a matter of time before somebody out on the street steals his "lunch".

He's here for safekeeping. I plan to get him to the nearby medical clinic in the morning, but it never comes to that.

His daughter and son-in-law show up a few hours later. They both show me their IDs and she pulls Carl's wallet out of her purse.