A girl told me her brother is addicted to ice (a drug). The way he pays for the habit is to go to nightclubs, hook up with a girl and go to a Hotel room (hopefully getting her to pay for the room). Once they have had sex and she takes a shower, or goes to sleep, he will then steal her clothes and wallet, and head to his dealer.
I was woken up early, about 5am, and asked to move on and so I headed down to the bottom level of an underground car park stairway. A sign on the wall gave it four star security protection, but where I was sitting there was no cameras. Since it was warm, and there was no customer activity that early, I sat there for couple of hours, but didn't sleep as I'd rather move myself on at the first sign of activity than wake up to a confrontation. The time went pretty slowly.
About 8am I headed back to the meeting place to find the Jamboree, from last night, back in action. They had moved to the riverbank after Dougy and I left and now had just come back. It was day two of my fast and I was sitting there thinking about the 'no washing' thing (Jesus didn't wash his hands before a meal, the Pharisees pointed out at one time) when I was asked to take one of the indigenous women around to Lazarus House so she could shower and get a change of clothes. That hadn't happened before, being asked to take someone for a wash, interesting timing of events. I happily guided her around behind the Cathedral to the center, and the ladies there helped her with the shower and clothes. On the way back she was nervous about looking nice and asked me to go ahead so she could arrive on her own, and then was pleased to receive the flattery when she came back and sat down. Moments later Warren asked me to show him the place as well, and I headed off again and waited while he cleaned up. As we got back to the meeting place there were about fifteen cops standing there, closing down the Jamboree, and so we walked on by down to the Yarra.
That evening, at my usual Friday night tv gathering with friends, I told them about my fast and they were concerned enough about my smell, that they offered to wash my feet for me! But I declined. It was more about experiencing the extra strain the physical impact that being dirty and smelly would put on relationships, despite still being the same person inside. Thinking about the power it has to divide and separate people was certainly made clear that night when another friend said that if I hadn't washed by this time next week, then staying the night at his place would not be an option. An understandable lesson in consequences, but even if I'm smelly I'm still the same lovable me, aren't I..?