nova comments on CalculatedRisk thread titled "job losses during

recessions" on 2009-02-09



http://www.calculatedriskblog.com/2009/02/job-losses-during-recessons.html



In every economic downturn in American history men like him had sprung

up. It was usually men, sometimes women, sometimes families, but

usually guys like him. Maybe buddied up, usually not. Sometimes with a

dog. Most times not. He had tried a dog. It didn't work. He could

barely feed himself. He had traded the dog to an Asian family for 3

days worth of unexpired MRE's and a handjob. It was a small dog.



The difference this time around was men like him got from place to

place. Trains were not happening. First 9/11, and then Los Angeles, had

made Homeland Security lock them down hard. Hitchhiking? He laughed to

himself. Nowadays trying that would get you a shallow grave in some

corn field. Hopefully you would be dead awhile before you filled it.

No, he was like many, a bike bum.



A bike got you somewhere somewhat quick and gave you range. Most

shelters, and other do-gooder organizations, well they would only let

you avail yourself of their services for a few days. You had to be

mobile in order not to starve to death. Plus it allowed you work the

fringes of the city, which was where a lot of the shelters anyways. You

could then take a bikepath and find a safe park, an abandoned house, or

maybe someone would tell of a door that was no longer locked at a strip

mall. You had to be careful though. People would hurt you bad for a

bike now.



Carlos like doing his pedaling early on. Get to the shelter and find

out if there was going to room or food available. Maybe take a shower.

He had a few restaurants that would feed him if he did some minor

sweeping and such. Better than the dumpsters. The oldtimers liked to

tell about how in the old days dumpsters were cornucopias. He didn't

know. He had a job, a house, a family, and hope back then. Know he

wasn't sure what he had. Other than the desire not to end up tagged and

bagged by the county.



He pedaled slowly, picking his way through the holes in the paved

surface of the bike path. It had been awhile since it had been

maintained. Also the trees and bushes were growing back from where they

had been trimmed. He didn't like that.



Word was the Woods People were starting to ambush bike bums. There used

to be an unspoken truce, as many Woods People had been bikers, or at

least understood there was not that much difference. Not anymore.



It was the young ones he was sure. They just did not give a shit. A lot

of them were never quite right after losing the Internet, the games,

the Ipods, It was like their brains had shorted.



He pulled off onto a path leading into the development. Some of the

houses were occupied. Whether by squatters or owners he did not know or

care. He avoided them. They hated people like him. Some of them would

shoulder their rifles and track him with the sights. Just there way of

letting him know he was not wanted.



Once he had gone past his old house. Someone lived there. Someone had a

roof and water. Someone did not have to shit in the woods like a bear.

It about killed him. Those dry hacking sobs that came out of now where.

He never went back.



The house developments that survived, well a lot of them either had

security they paid for. Others, the HOAs were doing their own policing.

Woods People had a tendency to disapear if the HOA came to call.



He cut through someones backyard. Well it was a backyard once. Now

trees were sprouting, the grass was high, and he about went end over

end when he tried go over the top of a bigwheel that was completely

camouflaged by the growing grass. The pain let him know he just racked

himself. That made him pause for a minute. Yes indeed.



Once he had recovered from the waves of pain he slipped off his bike to

check the front tire. Thank god it was ok. He had no idea how he would

replace a tire. Something he would catch himself worrying about, then

just as quickly lock the thought down. Carlos knew losing a tire could,

and would, send him into the ranks of the Tree People.



He pushed the bike the rest of the way. He had stayed here before. The

stink was not as bad as many houses from urine, and hopefully no one

had shit in the greatroom. He knew better than attempt the basement.

Basements were bad. Very bad. After he had went into the one on a whim,

or a hunch, he never knew. What he had seen hanging on the wall, her

flesh past the bloat stage had been enough.



He slid the bike in. Sometimes he slept with the bike chained to him.

Pulling his stainless steel steak knife from its duct tape sheath. He

began checking rooms and windows. Surprises nowadays were usually

unhappy at best; long lingering pain at worse.



He settled down, pulling out army surplus blanket that scratched and

itched him some nights so badly he wanted to scream. After making sure

the knife was handy he drifted off to sleep. His dream of being at the

last company picnic was cut short as every sense he had possesed

flashed on full alert. He was not alone in the house. Yet where? What

had woke him up? He laid there silent, grasping his steak knife

tightly. He heard it now. A faint scratching.



He slowly rose up to a sitting position. It was footsteps. Shit! His

heart was pounding. A faint shape materialized out of the darkness. Not

very tall. It was almost a full moon and the light of it coming in the

window illuminated her. She was maybe 12 years old. The same age that

his daughter would be. She looked a lot like her. He relaxed.



She came closer. My god she was wearing footsies! His daughter had worn

those when she was six. She was holding a stuffed bear. Well, he

thought it was a bear. The light was not good enough to see for sure.

She paused, looked at him. He whispered "You OK Kid?" She made a noise,

he processed it as a moan. His arms went up like they had so long ago

for Theresa. She ran into them. Just as they closed around her, he felt

the steel blade slide in. His last thought was "Thank god, it is over."

The girl laughed, then thrust her arm up in the air and screamed "Yes!"



She turned as the 2 teen aged boys came out of the yard, through the

broken sliding glass door, and into the room.



Allright! They high fived each other, and then her. "Good going Sis"

the older one said. She replied in a husky voice, almost disconcerting

for one that looked so young. "This means I am in the HOA right?"



The end