Yesterday, I observed one homeless person say, “Have a good weekend!” to another, who was lying down in the doorway of a boarded up building that reeked of urine. I couldn’t help but wonder: Do bums actually have weekends?

But then I realized how much of a bigot I was to assume that bums aren’t on the clock like the rest of us working stiffs. Who’s to say bums aren’t managed by supervisor bums who get on their case if they’re not producing the calibre of work expected of the top bums. Or that they don’t take bum smoke breaks during which they bitch about the load of bum work that their bum co-worker has totally piled on top of their bum desk and now they can kiss that bum promotion goodbye.

Yeah, that was my first mistake.