A Foreigner’s Take on My Hunger Strike

    30 days in, I don’t interact much with the public.  This has to be the most low key protest San Francisco has ever had.  And I like it that way.  Ima get what I want, just enough time to repair and go.  What I am doing in court, that’s what counts.  The hunger strike is more of a threatening posture.  It also counts (greatly) with God.  I find that aspect heartening.

    So I am outside getting the solar panel hooked up for the day, and an Asian man about my age, very thick accent so I know he isn’t native-born, asks me what it’s all about, waving his arm towards the signs in the windows.  I tell him housing rights,  that that this is is my home and I need a little time to get things right but instead of helping, it is actually illegal to live in one’s vehicle.  So I am afraid.  The neighbors yell, I motioned across the street.  He was quiet a moment,  then pronounced that was wrong because the government didn’t have the right to interfere with my choices, with my life choices.  In this, he pointed to the RV, you can be safe.  Exactly, I said.  He then told me his name was Abraham and he wished me good fortune with what I am doing.  As  I watched him walk away, for just a little moment, I felt vindicated.