Covid (Likeliest in the 'Delta-Form') Hits My MissionHouse/Shelter for Men, The Swift Turnover of Different MaleBodies in a Bed NextDoor

 I heard on arrival at St. Vincent de Paul Mission/Shelter for men yesterday that one resident had come down with Covid; the missing bed next to my 'room' suggested that the one who had succumbed was a Latino named rather nicknamed "Cuba" (I think his real name was Hernandez), a jolly fellow who gave me no problems for being transgendered-- not a universal where I 'spend my nights.' Cuba was pretty conscientious about mopping our floor, and was not defensive about the ribbing-- in male-pattern-bonding form-- that   that he got from the other (more typically male than I) men up there. He kept an American flag on his wall, and listened to Latino music which to my unlearned ear sounded yes Cuban.

Cuba out, somebody new in=> the Shelter here is no place to ass u me that one has a guaranteed hovel in which to take refuge; I learn and relearn that not much in my life and living now is anything but unstably fragile in station. The best I can do now to carve out some semblance of a life or endurance that gives a 'permission slip' as I go hither and thither can be quashed or convulsed or flagellated out of existence at a single whim say grunt of a party having no more authority than the ability to 'call 911/Security/'ScreamRape' and as now with the evidently 'new Covid scare' at my place, great caution on my part must rule action, with no room ever to complain, let alone argue with that-whomever saying the Rules here are (speaking tongue-cheekily!) to stand on my head with no hand supports.

We were all (evidently) besides Cuba tested for C19; I was 'negative.' I have the Johnson&Johnson 1-shot protection, but from what I have heard, people who have been vaccinated have yet a finite chance of getting ThePlague now. Over and over again, I am becoming aware by repeat lessons that UNLESS I STRUGGLE to make things different, everything now is a flux, a river at flood by a City which to avoid certain inconveniences will flush its fecal-ity into that river, others downstream need take the lumps of such Metropolitan disregard of neighbors.

I shall do my best. Yet my 'best' may not be enough to really abet re-finding a home sweet home without any sort of eviction, and then too as this surprise being ejected rejected as tenant essentially after 20 years with the landlord (10 years on Manslick Road 40208, 10 years on 8th Street 40203). Sometimes the best you can do will get a death sentence or a jail sentence, according to the obvious dictates of my phenomenal world.