Return to Old Town (Part 2)
I parked my car. Incredibly, the City expected me to pay for parking in a semi combat zone. I went to pay and the machine was shattered and dead. Across the street a young man with a blanket over his head was stationary and screaming in anger. Another man wearing a sleeping bag was silent and on the move.
The museum was a block away. During my walk, I determined that four of the ten vehicles parked on one street were serving as domiciles: three sedans, one van. Two had dogs inside.
An Oregon Homeless Age (OHA) man sat on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the museum. He was gesticulating, twitching and speaking in tongues.
I paid my $8 admission fee and toured the tiny excellent museum and had the whole place to myself. My mind filled with new information, ideas and insights and I signed up for a zine workshop the museum was holding in a couple weeks, so yes there would be another visit to Old Town.
The OHA man had vanished from the entrance and I stepped outside into rain. Across the street, an abandoned lot hosted several tents and various piles of strange refuse. Several men were pushing shopping carts full of cans and bottles. A few OHA men and women rode kids bicycles in the distance.
On the walk to my car, I noticed yellow parking tickets on the windshields of all the vehicles that weren't serving as domiciles. It was totally absurd but made perfect sense. Why expend any effort to collect fines from people who have no driver's licenses, addresses, registrations, and no means to pay fines? What really is there to be done?
Interestingly enough, I didn't get a ticket. Must have been my lucky rainy day.