AUGUST 8,2025 VENDOR VOICES Respect the hustle It’s hard to describe homelessness to someone who hasn’t lived it. People think it’s just about sleeping on the streets — but really, it’s about surviving without safety, privacy or dignity. It’s about feeling invisible in the middle of a crowd, and sometimes hunted when all you want is peace. I’ve lived this life in two cities: Ann Arbor, and New York City. What I share here isn’t policy analysis or academic research — it’s my truth. These are the cold nights I spent walking to the shelter — the hot subway cars where I dozed between stops, the meals I was thankful for, and the times I was robbed of both belongings and hope. These are also the moments of unexpected humanity, the volunteers who knew my name, the social workers who do believe, and the quiet strength I found in myself to stay clean and keep going. This is a comparative view—not just of cities — but of how we treat our most vulnerable. What works, what fails, and how each city’s spirit seeps into the lives of those with nowhere to go. Help That Matters Ann Arbor offered very little support — no help with getting cash assistance, some EBT Food Stamps help, and no consistent guidance. Churches and volunteers were the only ones who really seemed to care. In New York, I had a case manager from day one. I received EBT, a small cash benefit, and access to employment and housing specialists. For all the system’s flaws, I finally felt like someone had my back. Eating to Survive: In Ann Arbor, food came with dignity. The Delonis Center served hot homemade meals twice a day, and St. Andrew’s Church offered reliable, nourishing breakfasts. But outside those walls, food security vanished in my experience. Groceries are expensive, and restauPEDRO CAMPOS Groundcover vendor No. 652 rants rarely showed compassion. New York flipped that. Shelter food was often bland and insufficient; but out on the street, I could hustle up enough for a $1 slice of pizza or a smoothie from a bodega that accepted EBT. You learn to get creative fast when your next meal depends on it. There are also food trucks all over the city with all kinds of food for a reasonable price. Strings-attached shelter: Ann Arbor only had one main shelter. Many people sleep outside, even during Michigan’s brutal winters. I met people who had been homeless for over six years, still waiting for housing that will never come. The system feels random — monthly checks are made by housing staff to confirm your story, but there is little transparency and few results. In New York, things were more structured. After a two-month intake process, I was assigned a case manager and introduced to programs like Housing Connect, CityFHEPS, and 2010E, this last one for people with special needs. The waiting is still taking months, but there was at least a sense of progress. Yet both cities shared one tragic similarity: shelters are never truly safe. I can’t overstate the role drugs play in the lives of the unhoused — whether you use them or not. In both Ann Arbor and New York, alcohol, meth, crack and heroin are everywhere. Inside shelters, I saw people shoot up in bathrooms, trade pills like currency, and overdose more times than I can count. Sometimes it was the staff looking the other way — or worse, involved. For those trying to stay sober, it’s like walking through fire. Even if you don’t use, you still suffer: the fights, the thefts, the paranoia. Loud arguments in the middle of the night. Unwashed bodies packed into dorm rooms. The constant begging. You try to stay clean, keep a job, stay on track — but it wears you down. Even people who’ve never touched drugs are forced to live in environments shaped by addiction and untreated trauma. There’s no way to build a stable life when every day is a test of endurance. Healthcare: Medical care was solid in both cities — thanks to state Medicaid — but psychiatric care often felt like punishment. In Ann Arbor, mental health support was cold and oppressive. In New York, things have been impersonal, but the doctors are surely better prepared for the job and that is evident from their treatments. They are still abusive in my opinion, but as long as I’m psychiatrist-free, that doesn’t matter so much to me. The hustle: Jobs existed in both cities, but homelessness makes it hard to keep one. In Ann Arbor, you can beg for money and food, but vending on the street is banned without a license. Even bottle returns were limited — 10 cents per bottle, but only certain ones. In New York, the hustle is a way of life. Street vending, gig work, bottle collecting — even water bottles count here, though only 5 cents each. I do many things to make some money, mostly informal work, but it is work. And it made me feel human again. The Vibe: Ann Arbor still holds a special place in my heart. It’s quiet, surrounded by nature, and full of kind souls. People at Groundcover News gave me a voice. The University of Michigan is beautiful with its buildings all over town. Church basements turned into sanctuaries. I miss it — not just the place, but the sense of community. But it’s also a place where GROUNDCOVER NEWS 11 being poor makes you invisible. It’s clean and cultured, but reserved. New York, by contrast, is blunt and impersonal. People move fast, speak fast, live fast. Everyone’s got somewhere to be. But in that rush, there’s room for survival. The city doesn’t nurture you — but it doesn’t ignore you either. There’s a kind of respect in the hustle. Mobility: Ann Arbor is built for cars. If you’re on foot, you’re mostly stuck downtown. Bikes help, but winter snow makes them unreliable. Ann Arbor uses trespassing aggressively to exclude the homeless. Private businesses, police and racism combine to restrict movement. New York City enforces trespassing less harshly. Police appear more trained, and residents more aware of civil rights. New York? It’s a machine that never sleeps. Trains, buses, ferries, bikes, rideshares — they all run constantly. Even if you’re broke, you can still get around. It’s like being plugged into the city’s bloodstream. The grid of Manhattan becomes second nature. I could wake up in the Bronx and be in Brooklyn before breakfast. I felt like I was everywhere at once — ubiquitous, mobile, alive. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about being in Manhattan. You’re never grounded, always moving yet surrounded by everything. Art, music, street life, energy, vibrating. One minute I’m watching a jazz duo in the park, the next I’m walking down Broadway. And that’s the paradox — you feel like part of it all, and completely alone. The city doesn’t stop, and neither can you. Other dimensions Racism & Immigration: Ann Arbor feels more overtly racist, especially from police. As a U.S. citizen raised abroad, I was seen as “other.” New York, while more diverse, still had pockets of quiet xenophobia. People would tell me to "go back to your see HUSTLE page 13 WALDEN from previous page did a story on him being the oldest living UAW member. He lived to be 104. In his day he could easily afford a decent house, a new car every few years, and my great-grandmother didn’t have to work when my grandfather and his brother were very young. It was a different America then, with more opportunities and a higher living standard for the working class. The old Indian didn’t grow up in the United States, he grew up in the jungles of Nicaragua and hunted iguanas many days to feed himself. His upbringing took a big turn in his teens when his aunt used her position as a cook at the Nicaraguan embassy to bring him to Washington D.C. to finish school. He loved America so much he found his way into the Marine Corps as a fighter jet mechanic. Thanks to him I got the shadiest of shade tree mechanic jobs done on my poor poor Jeep. With the aid of strong drink and profanities we were able to remove my front driveshaft and simply use channel locks to bend and crush a few of the brake lines that had been damaged also. I would never again take that Jeep over 50 mph. In the greasy struggle against immobility, innocence would be the first casualty. I was glad all around because I could get to most places around that area simply by taking unpaved backroads. I didn’t need the luxury of all four brakes to have a place to stretch out. I was able to store enough of my belongings for a time at my friend's place. We had fun doing the work, it was a brief period of reflection before time for the next thing. We shared some nice meals and I made sure we got the projects done that my friend wanted to do. Eventually I had to hit the road, so I bid my friend farewell and made my way towards the town I grew up in where I used to have a more stable life and a family home. It was the most glorious time of the year, just before the first hints of cold weather put on the war paint of Indian Summer. TO BE CONTINUED
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