A Publication of the Coalition on Homelessness
by River
For years, the rhythm of my life was measured in losses. Two to four times a month, I would lose everything. My bedrolls, my clothes, my toiletries—stolen by others on the street or swept away by the Department of Public Health. Each loss pushed me deeper into the cycle of addiction, a blur of panhandling, washing windshields, and calling cabs outside the theater for tips just to find the next drink or the next hit.
by Loretta Nicole Overton
Querida, te amo, they call us the Goonie generation—the ones who say “never say die.” The NeverEnding Story generation.
I’m writing this for anyone who has lost someone to the streets, to addiction, or to forgetting.
I’m writing it for the people who loved them anyway.
You had so many names.
by Jason Albertson
EDITOR’S NOTE: Jason Albertson, a clinical social worker and long-time homeless advocate, died on October 25, 2025. Jason was well known to go to bat for unhoused people, stand up to injustice and engage in nonjudgmental care. His work led countless humans off the streets to have an opportunity to recover and thrive. He was so important to San Francisco and will be dearly missed. Below is a story of Jason’s that Street Sheet originally published in the April 1997 edition.
by Robyn Woof
The following article is part of INSP’s Changing the Narrative series. It has been written as the result of the new journalism training academy, established in 2025 by INSP to provide people with direct experience of homelessness and poverty the opportunity to learn about journalism and the media, and to enhance their storytelling and written abilities. The training academy has two ambitions: to challenge media and public misconceptions about homelessness;
by Apple Cronk
Last month, President Donald Trump signed Executive Order 14321—“Ending Crime and Disorder on America’s Streets.” By criminalizing homelessness, addiction and mental health crises, the order strips federal support from lifesaving public health solutions like Housing First and harm reduction—the very policies that saved my life and my daughter’s, and made my nearly three years of recovery possible.
I spent over a decade unhoused in San Francisco.
by Tatiana Lyulkin
I became “vulnerable” very late in life, after my parents died in 2014 and in 2016, and I lost what was basically “their” apartment in Daly City in 2017. I’m not spoiled or lazy, just disabled. So with my parents gone, my Social Supplemental Income check is my only source of income. But last month I got a letter from the SSI telling me I was overpaid and I owe them $10,000 because my studio has a kitchen.
by Kenyota
Content warning: This piece contains a reference to suicide.
I was homeless on the streets of San Francisco, and in several cities throughout the Bay Area, for over a decade. During those years I experienced what it felt like to be a non-person. I received the harsh stares, societal shunning and feelings of inadequacy that are common among those considered lost in the world of the unhoused.
by Jack Bragen
When I was young, in my 20s, I took pride in being able to get letters to the editor published. For a young adult with severe psychiatric illness, a letter to the editor in a paper is pretty good, but I wanted more. I really wanted to become a writer. Occasionally I submitted stories to publications, and considering the level of the writing I produced back then, I stood little or no chance of getting something accepted.
by Andy Pope
When I was homeless, I would wake up on a couple pieces of cardboard, sometimes set over dirt. Sometimes I slept on a ramp on the side of a Catholic church. I would wake when the sky was getting light, then wander into a nearby AA fellowship. There I would hit the bathroom for a quick clean-up before grabbing a cup of coffee.
Make that three cups.
by Jack Bragen
Our streets have become a dumping ground for unfortunate people who could not keep up with the expectations of society. In the bottom of our socioeconomic structure there is a giant trapdoor through which people can fall if they can’t keep pace.
Disabled people who can’t keep up with full-time, professional work will often fall through this trapdoor. If their family is unwilling or unable to provide enough help,
