Right by where I work is this park, mostly utilized by transients, panhandling teenagers, and the occasional jogger. There was a recent outcry when the city re-zoned parking in the area; now there is a three-hour limit, which essentially forced people living in their cars to find somewhere else to camp during the day. I was as outraged as the next liberal, but I have to admit the change has really improved the walk to and from getting espresso in the morning.

Today, in addition to a larger-than-normal police presence, I noticed the unusual spectacle of a dozen or so lost youth laying in a pile by a bench, sleeping, or sleeping it off. In that pile was a dog. I always feel bad for dogs who are companions for lost youth. I've been a dog person my whole life; my family bred dachsunds for years. We've since moved on to bigger, less freakish breeds like labs. I always feel a bit of a twinge when a dog-owner pnahndles me; I hope the dog will realize its real power and best interest, and open the punk owner's throat, drag the body into the bushes and eat for a week, before setting off on his own like Benji.

I really hate those punks. One time, this kid asked me if I had any spare change. I said, "No, I'm afraid not." The little bastard got in my face and said, "What are you afraid of, yo?" I wanted to punch the prick. I said, "Listen, you little son of a bitch. I at least acknowledged you. Fuck you, you rude little prick." At least I said something like that.

I used to work at the King County Bar Association, raising money for their community legal service programs, so you'd think I'd be more sympathetic.

Nope.