It seemed that whether one “chose” to be a vagabond or a “respectable” member of society, the result was ultimately the same: perennial tiredness. Burnout, exhaustion, etc. While those who are “respectable” might presume that being a “bum” is far less tiring than “legitimate” work, they know not of the constant struggle of finding a place to just “be.” That in and of itself possessed all the grit and devotion theoretically required of a full-time job. But the so-called real full-time jobs of the world don’t know how cush they are in comparison to the nonstop hustle required of the streets. The streets which offer no temperature-controlled climate, no ergonomic chairs and certainly no wi-fi to better accommodate the demands of the day.

That was what Shawn Lavarro had to deal with each and every moment of his harrowing vagabond existence. Of course, he might as well have turned in the name “Shawn Lavarro” the second he became “unhoused,” as they were now calling it. A term that Shawn couldn’t help but openly laugh aloud at the first time he heard it. If he remembered correctly, someone at the homeless shelter had used it to describe him one night when he came in with the vain hope of finding an open bed. Seeing him laugh, however, probably didn’t make the attendant on duty feel “warm and fuzzy” toward him—probably didn’t make her want to pull any strings to help him in his cause, which was, quite simply, the alleged basic human right to sleep.

But the “unhoused” were given no such luxuries. Luxuries that were taken as a given by the (paid) working stiffs of the world. Luxuries like being called by your own name. Instead, Shawn often forgot his name because no one ever addressed him, let alone looked at him (at least not directly). The only time someone ever acknowledged him in any way was when he went into the library on the corner of 8th and Matthews, where Shonda, the librarian standing guard at the front desk, always greeted him with a friendly, “Hi Shawn.” It was she who had helped him secure a library card. She who had input the library’s own address as his “residence” so that he could bypass the hurdle of being denied the wealth of services provided by the library.

When he looked at her with incredulous gratitude for this, she said, “From one ‘Shon’ to another, eh? My name is Shonda, by the way.” And from that instant, Shawn and Shonda were born. A symbiotic relationship wherein Shonda could wield her librarian’s prowess for recommending books she thought Shawn would enjoy/benefit from and Shawn could relish the rare opportunity to be seen as an actual human being.

So it was that, for the first time he could recall in recent memory, Shawn felt as though he had a place to go. A place, at last, to “be.” And that made it all the more appealing to truly take advantage of the library’s resources. Alas, it went without saying that not everyone in the space was as welcoming and friendly as Shonda. There were many who regarded him with blatant disdain just for sitting in one of the chairs. For ostensibly “draining the resources” that “should have been reserved solely for taxpayers.” And Shawn wasn’t even one of the worst of the homeless people that frequented this particular library. There were far more, shall we say, conspicuous ones than him. The ones that openly talked to themselves or emanated an especially offending stench. But that was no matter. The average frequenter of the library made no discernment when it came to “varietals” of homeless people. They were all the same as far as everybody else was concerned: a scourge.

That’s certainly how the current president of the country seemed to feel about it. For he was given the counsel to cut libraries off at the knees (to paraphrase the American Library Association) by a key (and unofficial) member of his Cabinet, who informed him that the “only reason” libraries exist nowadays is for the purpose of being glorified homeless shelters. Hearing this, the president-turned-führer got the “brilliant idea” to cut the funding from the Institute of Museum and Library Services, the only federal agency that funds libraries across the nation. Or rather, “funded” them. For the president-turned-führer decided that such an institution ought to be eradicated “to the maximum extent consistent with applicable law.”

Never mind that somebody like Shawn, with no available resources for learning or general self-improvement, let alone the ability to apply for jobs to become the kind of person that the president-turned-führer wouldn’t see as a non-person, was totally reliant on the library. As were many others. Even those who were “housed.” Going to the library, after all, is (or was) considered a staple of childhood. Billed as an “event” and a rite of passage. A way to pass on to the next generation the concept of how important reading is—not just for “research,” but for pleasure. Not anymore though. Not under this nation of dolts that the president-turned-führer was tirelessly working to cultivate. All in a bid, apparently, to fulfill the prophecy of the subpar 2006 movie, Idiocracy. A movie, incidentally, that Shawn had actually seen because he was able to watch it at the library.

In the months that followed the president-turned-führer’s gutting of the Institute of Museum and Library Services, the difference in available resources was markedly noticeable. It wasn’t just that many libraries—including the one favored by Shawn—could no longer provide ebooks or audiobooks (which had become seminal players in terms of getting more people to read) due to the budget cuts, but were also forced to dispense with internet access, which was previously paid for through funding from the IMLS.

However, what came as the biggest heartbreak of all to Shawn was that, one day, when came into the library, he found that Shonda was gone. When he asked the volunteer worker where she was, the elderly man replied that she had been laid off. Another casualty of the budget cuts. Never mind that the funding allotted to the IMLS generally only comprised about .003 percent of the federal budget. The vast majority of the other 99.997 percent going to the Department of Defense. Because war mongering is a much better use of funds, no? A much better way to “improve humanity.”

Shawn was so gobsmacked by the news of Shonda’s departure that he couldn’t even bring himself to stay in the library that day. In fact, he wasn’t sure he would ever want to go back in. The way things were going, they would probably revoke his library card soon anyway, citing “not having a real address” as the reason to do so. Shonda had shown him kindness and leniency when he was at his lowest. And that meant almost more to him than the library itself. Without her in it, Shawn reckoned that continuing to go there would be too much salt in the wound. A wound that was, for a while there, starting to heal. He was even making headway on his goal to apply for at least five jobs a day. Without the internet at the library though, that goal was shot to shit. As was the one to read at least three books a month. To not let himself fall prey to the dumbing down of society that the president-turned-führer was so dead set on completing. This in addition to ensuring that “Shawn’s kind” would have absolutely no place to go where they wouldn’t be viewed solely as “vermin.” That, Shawn decided, was the president-turned-führer’s real end game. Not just making sure everyone was stupid and uninformed, but that the “unhoused” would feel like shit in every setting. With the library being the last beacon of hope to not feel entirely that way.

So it was back to the streets full-time for Shawn. Experiencing that perennial tiredness that people who do “real” work also complain about. The fundamental divide between the unpaid and paid not being so great. It’s just that those who were paid seemed less likely to have enough time to enjoy the erstwhile glorious resources of the public library.