Mother’s Day At The Homeless Shelter

Prime Time is out at the conversation benches. He looks confused and concerned, shaking his head sadly.

Prime Time is one of our cooks at U.S. Vets homeless shelter for crackheads, felons and crazies. Prime Time qualifies for this place in two out of three of those categories.

Prime Time is upset and hurt. He says that not one mother showed up for our Mother’s Day event at the veterans shelter.

Flyers were put up all around the shelter weeks before Mother’s Day. Prime Time and the other cooks spent weeks planning the menu. They dipped in to the food services discretionary fund to buy actual, real and unsually fresh food for the Mother’s Day Breakfast. They got up five hours early Mother’s Day morning to put actual cloth tablecloths on the tables and unlock the nonplastic spoons and forks (no knives allowed).

Not one mother showed up. All that tablecloth finery and good food had to be wasted on us inmates. Prime Time shook his head sadly and repeated,

“Not one mother . . .”

“Well of course not!” the elder, slightly bitter sheltered veteran we call ‘Uncle Miltie’ said, “The mothers are the first person these crackheads burned,” Uncle Miltie explains, “Can you imagine one of these guys calling their mother and inviting her to come down here for a mother’s day breakfast?”

“Give me my TV back first,” she’s going to say.”

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