The Product Line (Book 1): Product Read Online Free Page B
Author: Ian McCain
a recent addition to the New York scene. Unlike other homeless outreach programs, they don’t specialize. They take in all types and have a strict doctrine to reform their residents, cure them of what ails them. Treat the drunk, rehabilitate the junkie, and restore the abused. A sort of help-all attitude toward situational hardship, hence the name Transitions.
The building itself has more than enough square footage to comfortably accommodate a sizeable contingent of the entire local homeless population, but a lot of time and effort has been put into finishing touches on the building as opposed to creating barracks-style living quarters. Instead there is an intake area with a large open section that feels more like the entryway to a gymnasium. There are fold-away benches and stackable chairs that come out during mealtime and clear away into the corners at night time. Meals and many of the occupational therapies are conducted in this main indoor courtyard.
Because they don’t practice turnover they have several stages of transition. For those who are not night-to-night, and who are looking to create more stable environment for them and for their children, there are the next few floors. These are a form of halfway-house—they’re small efficiency apartments for families in transition. They offer some degree of stability and normalcy for the recently displaced. Most of the apartments are full of women who have fled abusive relationships, leaving in the middle of the night with nothing more than what they and their children could carry in both hands.
Marie has volunteered a few times at Transitions when it first opened there last year, when she could still coax Ernie to get help at places. She would bring him into their facility for a meal and then volunteer to help out, so that she could keep an eye on him. Inevitably Ernie would sneak out when she was helping some other poor soul and disappear into an alley and a bottle.
She has seen Transitions doing a lot of good for a lot of people, but deep down feels that something is off with them. Something that just doesn’t add up. She knows of at least five floors under the control of Transitions, LLC, the 501c3 non-profit organization that runs the outreach program, but has never found out what the upper floors are allocated for. She has heard someone mention a detox area before, but that seems way outside the scope of their duties.
Marie rounds the corner of the intake area and looks around for a familiar face. She imagines it might be hard to spot someone she recognizes considering how full they get around mealtimes. Surprisingly, the courtyard is relatively empty. There are maybe twenty people milling about compared to the two hundred or so she saw the last time she was here.
That’s odd. She looks for the face of any worker there that she might recognize.
--Marie? Goodness, look at you. Pretty as the day is long.
A voluptuous blonde woman in a bright pink form-fitting dress clinging tightly to every generous curve of her body waves excitedly at Marie as she bounces her way closer.
--Alice?
Marie only remembers Alice because of the genteel southern mannerisms. She always gets such a kick out of how Alice interacts with the homeless and can never get over how absurdly long she stresses the “A” in Alice when introducing herself.
Alice strides right up to her and gives her a big hug. Alice never forgets a name, a place, a story, a detail to anything. Elephants the world over would be jealous of her memory skills.
--My dear, where on earth have you been? I was just saying to the other girls, where is that Marie? Beautiful Marie. Wasn’t I just saying that?
A woman who is slowly finishing a piece of chicken at one of the tables nods, clearly unaware of anything that is being said.
--Well, love, what, pray tell, may I do for you?
--Alice, it looks pretty sparse in here. Did you guys lose some funding or something?
--Listen to you, sweet Marie, always worrying
The building itself has more than enough square footage to comfortably accommodate a sizeable contingent of the entire local homeless population, but a lot of time and effort has been put into finishing touches on the building as opposed to creating barracks-style living quarters. Instead there is an intake area with a large open section that feels more like the entryway to a gymnasium. There are fold-away benches and stackable chairs that come out during mealtime and clear away into the corners at night time. Meals and many of the occupational therapies are conducted in this main indoor courtyard.
Because they don’t practice turnover they have several stages of transition. For those who are not night-to-night, and who are looking to create more stable environment for them and for their children, there are the next few floors. These are a form of halfway-house—they’re small efficiency apartments for families in transition. They offer some degree of stability and normalcy for the recently displaced. Most of the apartments are full of women who have fled abusive relationships, leaving in the middle of the night with nothing more than what they and their children could carry in both hands.
Marie has volunteered a few times at Transitions when it first opened there last year, when she could still coax Ernie to get help at places. She would bring him into their facility for a meal and then volunteer to help out, so that she could keep an eye on him. Inevitably Ernie would sneak out when she was helping some other poor soul and disappear into an alley and a bottle.
She has seen Transitions doing a lot of good for a lot of people, but deep down feels that something is off with them. Something that just doesn’t add up. She knows of at least five floors under the control of Transitions, LLC, the 501c3 non-profit organization that runs the outreach program, but has never found out what the upper floors are allocated for. She has heard someone mention a detox area before, but that seems way outside the scope of their duties.
Marie rounds the corner of the intake area and looks around for a familiar face. She imagines it might be hard to spot someone she recognizes considering how full they get around mealtimes. Surprisingly, the courtyard is relatively empty. There are maybe twenty people milling about compared to the two hundred or so she saw the last time she was here.
That’s odd. She looks for the face of any worker there that she might recognize.
--Marie? Goodness, look at you. Pretty as the day is long.
A voluptuous blonde woman in a bright pink form-fitting dress clinging tightly to every generous curve of her body waves excitedly at Marie as she bounces her way closer.
--Alice?
Marie only remembers Alice because of the genteel southern mannerisms. She always gets such a kick out of how Alice interacts with the homeless and can never get over how absurdly long she stresses the “A” in Alice when introducing herself.
Alice strides right up to her and gives her a big hug. Alice never forgets a name, a place, a story, a detail to anything. Elephants the world over would be jealous of her memory skills.
--My dear, where on earth have you been? I was just saying to the other girls, where is that Marie? Beautiful Marie. Wasn’t I just saying that?
A woman who is slowly finishing a piece of chicken at one of the tables nods, clearly unaware of anything that is being said.
--Well, love, what, pray tell, may I do for you?
--Alice, it looks pretty sparse in here. Did you guys lose some funding or something?
--Listen to you, sweet Marie, always worrying
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