Winter of 2002 all the way to spring of 2003 found me working and loafing around the campaign headquarters of one of the council members of the City of Los Angeles. Then, I was working as a database manager for his entire re-election campaign. As massive as the work load seemed to be it was not so hard to manage the database which had hundreds of thousands of voters’ info in it. I worked flex time and rarely worked for more than six hours a day, I had a very good salary too. Often, I’d be in and out of the office. Coming in whenever they needed me, then leaving again once I got bored doing nothing…or I’d be downloading anime and mp3s.

During the peak of the campaign period I usually came in at nine o’clock at night to attend the staff meeting, and then proceed to managing my databases, printing reports, running statistics and entering newly acquired data courtesy of the volunteers. All these would be done and over with usually by two in the morning. With that all done I lock the office and start walking the mile home. I had a good job, I had money, I had what many yuppies yearned to start off with, but I was not happy. Still this was not where I wanted to be. Still this was not my idea of a good life. Still this is not what I thought would bring a genuine smile to my face.

On the way home from the office, I have to cross a freeway off ramp where two bums always spend the night, and sometimes even the day, hoping to be able to get a handful of loose change from the cars that exit the freeway. One of them is Latino, the other, Caucasian. And as I pass by at night walking home I usually smile at them and bid them good night, and so do they. Probably once every two weeks when I have to report to the office early to troubleshoot or do some emergency statistics runs, I hand them my leftover breakfast from McDonalds. Often a whole breakfast sandwich and a large drink. But in my rush I don’t even have the time to receive their thanks.

One morning, about two weeks before election day, I found myself walking home at exactly 10 in the morning. It was the first day I worked for 12 hours straight in my entire life. It was getting close to crunch time for our candidate and the data I process every night is oh-so-important to determine the next moves and pushes of the campaign. As I passed by the freeway off ramp I saw just one of duo, the Caucasian one. I smiled as always, gave him three quarters, and as a polite gesture bid him good morning and asked, “Where’s your compadre?” To which his reply surprised me. He looked down at his feet, his smile was wiped off his face and his eyes glazed. I found myself in an awkward position and so to break the moment I blurted out, “Want to have breakfast man?” He looked me straight in the eyes, shocked but still misty eyed. Finally with a cringing voice he replied, “Sure. If it’s alright with you.” “Are you good for a quick meal at Mickey Dees?” I asked. He nodded. And so we started to walk towards the nearest McDonalds which was a couple of houses away from where I lived.