When I pulled away from the drive-through that day, I felt something beyond the familiar senses of not helping, of being complicit within a country that has failed to adequately create solutions to provide livable housing for all its citizens. I felt what I had been avoiding: the ways I had failed at being a librarian. The many unhoused patrons at Northwest One whom I had never been able to help secure housing. The mistakes I had made. The times I did not intervene or intervened in ways that were harmful to others.
