On death and space and work

I keep a list on my phone of people I’ve loved who have died.

At my work, we call these people “neighbors” because they literally are. Our neighbors. They sleep somewhere right down the street, whether on the pavement itself, or in a crappy motel room, or in an astronomically-priced hovel.

The moniker “neighbor” serves the dual purpose of entreating resonance with the biblical imperative to love. It’s worth noting that some people who come to this work do not need a biblical imperative to love, and some people who adhere strictly to other theological…