“Oh, God! that bread should be so dear. And flesh and blood so cheap!” [Thomas Hood, 1843]
I have 15 cents and the landlord with two beamers says it would be a hardship to reduce the rent. I have 15 cents and the shirtless man holding a crystal to the bodega window needs cereal and milk (and a Mug Root Beer would be nice).
I have 15 cents and Mayor Breed’s aide laughs at me open heartedly over the telephone line. I have 15 cents and the girl on the Golden Gate Bridge runs towards the brink to forget a band of tricoleur cloth thrown by the wind.
I have 15 cents and know where the Mayor lives but lying on the asphalt seems cliche.
I have 15 cents and didn’t know you could eat heroin until I walked down Hyde Street.
I have 15 cents and give a man my Muni token on Harvey Milk Plaza.
I have 15 cents and wonder if the baby in the pram has had more money spent on its short existence than the entire life of the man air drying his junk in the Dolores Park bathroom.
I have 15 cents and wish Mark, Jack, and Elon would jump in a lake.
I have 15 cents and where I come from we drove Fords and Toyotas, people knew the names of their upstairs neighbors and the houses are made of brick.
I have 15 cents and two lovers who killed themselves after an eviction.
I have 15 cents and think I shouldn’t have to resort to these poetic tactics to make you care.
