by Mark P. Fisher
Every day, broken men and women enter homeless shelters.
Each person has a similar story. A path to brokenness.
I met Curtis in Denver.
A mid 40s, Cheshire cat smiling, African-American man.
I was standing in line to enter the downtown Denver rescue mission when Curtis called me out.
'Hey,' he said from behind me.
'What Is your white, honkey suburban ass doing in the ghetto?'
Not wanting to draw attention to the moment I replied: 'same as you I guess, looking for food and a place to stay.'
'Whatchyoudo?' he questioned.
'I'm a storyteller.' I responded in a quiet whisper.
'A what?!' he probed with a mixture of curiosity and distain.
'A storyteller,' I replied...quick to ask 'what do you do?'
Looking carefully around he replied: 'oh, I'm a pharmacist, whatcha need?'
We both laughed.
As the night wore on I learned from Curtis that he was, in fact a pharmacist. As a registered nurse he was caught stealing drugs at the hospital he worked, sent to jail and was now out on the street.
Broken, yet resilient.
Streetsmart. A Survivor.