Please Know...

As I come to know the men and women of Kensington, specifically the homeless and addicted, their stories become increasingly sensitive and personal. Their collective story is what I am trying to share with you as my way of breaking the stereotypical beliefs that exist in regard to these fine people. Names are rarely their actual names and wherever I can do so, I might use the opposite pronoun (his/her, etc.) just to help increase their privacy.

Sunday, September 9, 2018

She doesn't want to go outside tonight.

The purpose of this blog series has been to help the reader develop a better understanding of addiction and homelessness.  On a personal level, this series has served as my place to mentally and emotionally process the experiences I've had in Emerald City, on Frankford Avenue and Kensington in general in the preceding hours or days.  These writings along with prayer are my therapy in many ways.

Throughout these months, I've come to understand second hand the staggering differences between the sufferings of men and that of women on the streets.  All are suffering.  The suffering of women on the streets is easily tenfold that of the men.  Most men on the streets would agree with that as well.


Just yesterday, I was introduced to a song and video that portrays the experiences of addicted women on the streets.  Please note that the woman in this video has an apartment to call home.  The ladies I know have the underside of a Conrail overpass to call their home.

The A Team

White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour taste
Light's gone, day's end
Struggling to pay rent
Long nights, strange men

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
She's stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries

And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
'Cause she's just under the upper-hand
And goes mad for a couple of grams
And she don't want to go outside tonight
'Cause in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
And sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly

Ripped gloves, raincoat
Tried to swim and stay afloat
Dry house, wet clothes
Loose change, bank notes
Weary-eyed, dry throat
Call girl, no phone

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
She's stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries

And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
'Cause she's just under the upper-hand
And goes mad for a couple of grams
But she don't want to go outside tonight
'Cause in a pipe she flies to the Motherland 
And sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly

Now angel will die
Covered in white, closed eye
And hoping for a better life
This time, now we'll fade out tonight
Straight down the line
Straight down the line

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
She's stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
They scream
The worst things in life come free to us
And we're all under the upper-hand
Go mad for a couple of grams
And we don't want to go outside tonight
'Cause in a pipe we fly to the Motherland
And sell love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly, fly, fly
Angels to fly, to fly, to fly
Angels to die
Songwriters: Ed Sheeran
The A Team lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC


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