<...> A housing liaison gathered all the newcomers in a room to give us the rundown. We had four options: join Ready Willing and Able’s program, which prepared men to become street sweepers and janitors; sign up for a Bloomberg administration program which presents participants with a one-way ticket out of town, so long as the applicants could provide a contact person in the destination city who would agree to host them; enter the city’s shelter system, which the liaison accurately portrayed as a horror show, with gang-and-drug-infested death traps like Wards Island (Said one of my brethren, “Yo, I was at Wards Island one night, woke up and a dude was laying there dead, all cut the fuck up.”); or hop in the van with him to tour Brooklyn’s three-quarter sober houses, which were private residences that sounded a lot more promising than a shelter.
I opted for the last one, and ended up staying at a three-quarter house in East New York, Brooklyn for seven months, until the economic crisis that fall brought in a whole new influx of desperate homeless. Then, suddenly, our utopia on the first floor was disrupted by violent, mentally ill housemates and a rodent problem that I tried in vain to solve with traps and an adopted cat. Since I had a job at that point and was paying rent just to stay in a room with three other guys and some very gregarious mice, I decided to leave. (At the time, I had no idea that these three-quarter houses were mostly illegal operations that conveniently siphoned off some of the city's homeless ranks. No wonder the liaison pushed option number four so aggressively.)
Whenever a resident had a grievance with some administrator or policy, I often heard the threat, “I’m going to the Coalition!” I had seen Coalition for the Homeless vans parked in midtown but had no idea what they offered. One of my roommates told me, “If you really need a hookup with housing, don’t go to DHS
, go to the Coalition.” So I went to the Coalition offices on Fulton Street and met with a counselor to see if they could direct me to some affordable housing. I don’t remember the specifics of our meeting, but afterward I did jot down one line that the counselor, a slim, 20-something Hispanic man, laid on me: “We have sort of an adversarial relationship with the Bloomberg administration. A lot of their polices run counter to what we recommend.” <...> Capital New York
Please read the whole fucked up depressing thing--especially if you have never had to deal with homelessness. It provides a good starting point toward understanding the seemingly inescapable abyss of homelessness and the kind of daily degradations the homeless have to put up with in order to survive.