Vengeance. Two more volunteers manned the stove. Several hauled the food to the

serving tables. For the moment, I was the only sandwich man.

"We need more peanut butter sandwiches," Mordecai announced as he returned to the

kitchen. He reached under the table and grabbed a two-gallon jug of generic peanut butter.

"Can you handle it?"

"I'm an expert," I said.

He watched me work. The line was momentarily short; he wanted to talk.

"I thought you were a lawyer," I said, spreading peanut butter.

"I'm a human first, then a lawyer. It's possible to be both--not quite so much on the spread

there. We have to be efficient."

"Where does the food come from?"

"Food bank. It's all donated. Tonight we're lucky because we have chicken. That's a

delicacy. Usually it's just vegetables."

"This bread is not too fresh."

"Yes, but it's free. Comes from a large bakery, their day-old stuff. You can have a

sandwich if you like."

"Thanks. I just had one. Do you eat here?"

"Rarely." From the looks of his girth, Mordecai had not maintained a diet of vegetable

soup and apples. He sat on the edge of the table and studied the crowd. "Is this your first

trip to a shelter?"

"Yep."

"What's the first word that comes to mind?"

"Hopeless."

"That's predictable. But you'll get over it."

"How many people live here?"

"None. This is just an emergency shelter. The kitchen is open every day for lunch and

dinner, but it's not technically a shelter. The church is kind enough to open its doors when

the weather is bad."

I tried to understand this. "Then where do these people live?"

"Some are squatters. They live in abandoned buildings, and they're the lucky ones. Some

live on the streets; some in parks; some in bus stations; some under bridges. They can

survive there as long as the weather is tolerable. Tonight they would freeze."

"Then where are the shelters?"

"Scattered about. There are about twenty--half privately funded, the other half run by the

city, which, thanks to the new budget, will soon close two of them."

"How many beds?"

"Five thousand, give or take."

"How many homeless?"

"That's always a good question because they're not the easiest group to count. Ten

thousand is a good guess."

"Ten thousand?"

"Yep, and that's just the people on the street. There are probably another twenty thousand

living with families and friends, a month or two away from homelessness."

"So there are at least five thousand people on the streets?" I said, my disbelief obvious.

"At least."

A volunteer asked for sandwiches. Mordecai helped me, and we made another dozen.

Then we stopped and watched the crowd again. The door opened, and a young mother

entered slowly, holding a baby and followed by three small children, one of whom wore a

pair of shorts and mismatched socks, no shoes. A towel was draped over its shoulders.

The other two at least had shoes, but little clothing. The baby appeared to be asleep.

The mother seemed dazed, and once inside the basement was uncertain where to go next.

There was not a spot at a table. She led her family toward the food, and two smiling