I talked with a man this afternoon about the terrible feeling of it being Monday. Not because of the reason most people hate Monday (although this gentleman does work) but because Monday means dealing with the waiting. Waiting all day to find out if you will have a bed for the next 28 days. And if so, at which shelter. It's hoping that your name will be picked early so you have your choice of the 3 smaller shelters but knowing that if not, you have to find another option before the night is over. And that option might mean walking an hour up to the north end of downtown to the more sketchy shelters, the ones that pack over a hundred guys in a room mat to mat each night. Where people steal your belongings and deal drugs in the open air in front of the Minneapolis City Police officer posted to keep order where the 2 large shelters share the same block.

It's a feeling that I've luckly never had to experience but one that I can somewhat imagine. It must fill one's chest with pressure and anxiety. The waiting game must be a slow torture if you let it be, especially as the nights grow colder and the options become more limited.