Walking into COSAC Homeless Shelter at dinnertime on a Saturday, I expected to see a lot of desperation, people who had given up.
I expected to see jeans frayed around the ankle, splattered with paint or mud or the unknown. I expected to see worn and torn graphic T-shirts with holes in the armpits, articles of clothing so filthy I’d never touch. I expected greasy hair, dirt-ridden hands and tired faces.
I was wrong.
Between the COSAC residents, the shelter staff and the student reporters, it was difficult to tell the difference between the ones with homes and those without based on clothes alone.
Robbi Robinson, Brett Armstead, and Rosemaria Yale are perfect examples of COSAC residents who contradict the stereotype I walked in with.
They dress, well … just like I would on a Saturday night at my home in suburban New Hampshire.