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The homeless encampment at the I-5 underpass at B Street has been cleared out.

For months (perhaps even for years), many of the city's homeless took advantage of the rain-free environment; rows of cardboard mats, shopping carts, blankets, and sleeping bags lined the sidewalks on both sides of B Street.

On March 24, I drove through the tunnel at about 7:30 a.m. and saw a police car there with two officers talking to a group of the residents. Two days later, I passed through again, but this time the underpass was a ghost town.

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mromano18 March 25, 2010 @ 4:40 p.m.

HEELLLLOOO. They go a few blocks down to the covered bridge on Imperial, or to the shelter on Island. Or, if it's sunny, they go to the uncovered bridge on Island. Wouldn't kill you to venture a few blocks down. I'm there every day, and sadly so are they.


iced_vanilla_latte March 26, 2010 @ 10:46 p.m.

They are not hungry! They know where and when to get their meals. In the bathrooms of those places is where the they do their dealing and get their drugs or booze. They are lazy and crafty and most times smart. They use the ones who are trying to help them out like Father Joe. They urinate and leave their trash in the streets. And they do not pay for ANYTHING. Sad miserable life for them...but it is self inflicted.


Radical Uterus April 1, 2010 @ 11:27 a.m.

I was homeless in San Diego. I'm not a drunk or a drug addict. I am mentally ill. It seems that the people who villify the homeless should walk in the shoes of the homeless. Last time I checked mental illness is not self inflicted,


Radical Uterus April 3, 2010 @ 4:12 a.m.

Hearing about the homeless, reading about the homeless, reminds me what it was like to be homeless. I remember Downtown San Diego at night. An unforgiving environment for a lone woman seeking a safe place to just sit and rest a minute.

My longest period of fear induced sleeplessness was a solid 36 hours. For three days I stayed on the move, carrying my meager belongings in a black duffle bag. By the third day my feet were sprouting blisters like mushrooms on a cow pie.

I must have looked pretty rough because I passed a hairy man along the trolley right of way and he handed me a small roach. I sucked it greedily and as the weed went through my system, I found for that moment relief from my pain, psychic and physical.

My journey began months ago when I went into the desert to starve and dehydrate myself to death. Well, that's another story, for another time.

By the evening of the third day I found the Big Tent, and I knew I had a chance.


David Dodd April 3, 2010 @ 4:26 a.m.

Diana: 3 days is 72 hours, not 36. Sister, relax. Write your story, slowly, deliberately, use every word wisely. Waste no words. And check your math ;)


MsGrant April 4, 2010 @ 2:48 p.m.

And "homeless" should not be a crime. On the other hand, that a state of economic, situational or any other occurrence out of your control could render you susceptible to incarceration is criminal.


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