Casper works for Sunset Shelters, a depressingly under-funded, under-appreciated, and misunderstood homeless charity organization. Although there are no Amerindians living openly in Denver, Sunset is sympathetic to them and is occasionally in the news for being suspected of employing them. Sometimes there are even obvious law enforcement agents posing as homeless men to get inside the shelter. Casper sees one such man today.
"You look native," the man says with a complete lack of subtlety. He is Hispanic, trying too hard to emphasize Amerind features. He has brand new clothes that have been recently deliberately torn and covered with dirt, to simulate years of hard life. Casper knows how this dance works. Almost automatically, she denies it. Mexican, not native, she says as she inspects the sleeping quarters of the place. The guy tries a bit longer to get her to confess, even outwardly claiming his own Amerind heritage. She tells him to get lost and kicks him out of the shelter, because they don't serve Amerinds here. But it feels funny, like she's watching someone else kick the creep out. It's all kind of hazy to her, in fact.
She doesn't feel well.
She takes an early night from the shelter and heads home. Something is wrong with her. Hopefully Casper isn't getting sick before a run. On the tram back to her neighborhood, there was yet another guy checking her out. But it wasn't a lecherous look, like the drunk guy before. The look is hopeful curiosity. Normally she sees that look on the face of much darker, more native looking people, who are wondering whether it's safe to open up to her. This guy was dark, but in a Spanish or south Italy kind of way. She meets his eye, and he grins. He gets off the tram at the next stop.
Somehow she gets the feeling she'll meet him again.
By the time she arrives home, her vision is swimming. Her muscles are aching. She's sweating. She fumbles with her key and sort of falls into her apartment when the door opens. She lands soft on the floor as the door closes behind her. This isn't so bad, she says to herself. I can sleep here awhile...
When her eyes next open, the sun is already up. She's still laying on the floor. All traces of illness are gone, and she feels as strong as ever.
"You look native," the man says with a complete lack of subtlety. He is Hispanic, trying too hard to emphasize Amerind features. He has brand new clothes that have been recently deliberately torn and covered with dirt, to simulate years of hard life. Casper knows how this dance works. Almost automatically, she denies it. Mexican, not native, she says as she inspects the sleeping quarters of the place. The guy tries a bit longer to get her to confess, even outwardly claiming his own Amerind heritage. She tells him to get lost and kicks him out of the shelter, because they don't serve Amerinds here. But it feels funny, like she's watching someone else kick the creep out. It's all kind of hazy to her, in fact.
She doesn't feel well.
She takes an early night from the shelter and heads home. Something is wrong with her. Hopefully Casper isn't getting sick before a run. On the tram back to her neighborhood, there was yet another guy checking her out. But it wasn't a lecherous look, like the drunk guy before. The look is hopeful curiosity. Normally she sees that look on the face of much darker, more native looking people, who are wondering whether it's safe to open up to her. This guy was dark, but in a Spanish or south Italy kind of way. She meets his eye, and he grins. He gets off the tram at the next stop.
Somehow she gets the feeling she'll meet him again.
By the time she arrives home, her vision is swimming. Her muscles are aching. She's sweating. She fumbles with her key and sort of falls into her apartment when the door opens. She lands soft on the floor as the door closes behind her. This isn't so bad, she says to herself. I can sleep here awhile...
When her eyes next open, the sun is already up. She's still laying on the floor. All traces of illness are gone, and she feels as strong as ever.
