When people have no home, the last thing on their mind is politics.

I picked up some work registering people in the Downtown Eastside to vote. I'm going into the SRO hotels and signing people up. I feel like one of those people who registered black voters in the south in the early 60s. I just started tonight and I have seen blood spatters on a door frame, countless doors that had been forced with prybars countless times and a real, genuine, small-caliber bullet hole in an interior window. I've seen bullet holes in buildings before, having seen many a structure that still exhibited WW2 damage and made a few bullet holes in things myself, growing up in a family with hunters. This was without question a bullet hole. I've never seen one inside before.

People are friendly for the most part, but the hopelessness that is apparent in so many of them is hard to see. It does make me really want to try to get as many SRO residents out there voting as possible.