it aint no joke

what do you do, when that happens?

when what happens? people asking for money?

well yeah, or just anything, you know, when they walk up to you with a story. i mean, im just curious to know what other people in this field think, since it directly pertains to us. if theres like, a prevailing theory or something. a perspective a model a hypothesis. one of those.

no, i dont think there is. i think you do what feels right at the time, and if its used for drugs later then it is. and if its used to buy some kid pampers then it is. theres no way to tell and im not even sure if it matters.

is it bad that because im now technically a social worker i feel absolved of guilt? or at least, i feel like i should be. like, hey i wont give you a fucking dollar but im dedicating my life to eliminating this. but sometimes still i have this almost romanticized notion about it, like just walking up to someone and giving them a 20. thats paternalistic is what it is! right? and even worse that i get a rush out of it. that i find it sort of, cinematic or something. i cant believe im actually admitting this.

oh come on crystal everyone does. and who gives a fuck if its because you think its cinematic or not! youre giving them a twenty dollar bill, its probably the most money theyve ever gotten from one person before. thats generous, it doesnt need to have a hypothesis behind it. it helps them.

but does it, i guess is what i was asking originally. does it help them or does it prevent them from helping themselves? is it paternalistic.

i know what you were asking but im sticking to it- it helps them. hell im a social worker too, i obviously dont think that anything significant will ever change if we all just keep walking around giving one in a hundred people who ask twenty bucks. but that being said it does help and it is generous and if you want to do it then its right.

and if you dont want to do it? is that right too?

sure.

they parted ways and he got on the F to brooklyn and she got on the D up to the bronx where she worked at an old age home. on the train she sat next to a young girl reading teen people. there was an article about how many salads kristen dunst eats and covering the page were paparazzi shots of her sitting at outside cafes, eating salads. the girl was studying each picture, which from where crystal was sitting looked identical. the girl glanced up at crystal like a cat, like she caught her. crystal smiled a closed lip smiled and looked forward. she got one of her school books out, in the shadow of the poorhouse, and opened it. it was dry and dense and depressing and she had no idea what to do about it, about the state of social welfare in america. learning about the history of it only made her feel more paralyzed.

"none of the critics of poor relief, it must be stressed, proposed to eliminate poverty."

the train lurched to a stop at 59th street.

"the poor, or so it was assumed, should fend for themselves"

a tall lithe black woman wearing jeans and sweatshirt that read "hot damn here i am" walked onto the train car carring a makeshift drum.

"in the south, distinctions of race ultimately proved more important than those of class."

the woman began her speech about how she was sorry to bother us but she just needed to support her kids.

"poor-relief was supposed to shore up white supremacy by assuring even needy whites a standard of living and work superior to that of blacks."

without any other words she knelt and with a drumstick and her hand began beating out a rhythm.

"even in indigency and unemployment, a distinction had to exist between the white hireling and the black slave if the grand illusion of white supremacy was not to be eroded at its base."

she sang:
it aint no joke
for real im broke.
hey hey no joke.
im broke
broke
broke