John, the RV park manager, enjoyed our stay, since we were not his average guests, and our vehicle was not the average RV. While getting ready to head back to SF yesterday morning he whispered with his boyish grin, that at least five people had come up to him to say that the bus “really has to go”. Besides a tirade from Greyhound man on how Sanders just wants to give everyone money, higher minimum wage will make people lazy, and Republicans don't really want to make abortion illegal, they just don't want tax money to pay for it - I didn't get into any discussions.
Two girls were playing on the hood of their car as we left. Living in an rv park or trailer park (this one is mixed) is stigmatized. But it is a way to save money, to have a roof without having a landlord asking you too many questions. A place to be.
There are single retired people here. There is an rv that houses one set of parents, their son and sixteen year-old daughter, their daughter’s baby, and their son’s wife and child. The longest resident has been there 40 years. The extended family has been asked to leave because their rv officially only fits three. Such is life. For some people chances lie abundant, and others need to fight, in one way or another. One needs some willpower, or sometimes willpower needs to overtake you.
Reading about life for Jews who stayed in Amsterdam after WWII, I found:
"Mr. Freed photographed Eli Abrahams, who sold herring and flowers on the streets. Mr. Abrahams had faked a psychiatric disorder during the war and was admitted to a general psychiatric hospital, where he survived (the rest of family was killed in Auschwitz)."
Some fights are unimaginable.