The Corner of Southeast First Street and Southeast Second Avenue, Saturday 11:45 p.m.
The downtown clubs are swinging. Women wearing mini-dresses move briskly from the warmth of one club to the next. Billy Hunt and Matt, both homeless, stroll toward the St. Francis House shelter, watching.
"I know lust is a sin Lord, but sometimes they make it so hard," Matt said, holding his head back and staring at the sky.
Bo Diddley Community Plaza, Saturday 11:05, 40 minutes earlier
Fire of God Ministries' refurbished school bus makes a stop on the south side of Bo Diddley Community Plaza, dropping off people the church has just fed.
A dozen people, nearly all of them homeless, get off the bus. Loretta Herring, 57, is among them.
Many of those who stay on are headed to shelters where they will spend the night. Herring, who has been homeless for seven years, doesn't know where she will sleep tonight and asks those around her if they know of a nearby shelter.
She wears all black, clean clothes, a scarf, and carries several bags of possessions. Rhinestone-rimmed sunglasses shade her eyes, even though the only light is from scattered street lamps.
Being a homeless woman may be difficult, but Herring has sympathy for all people in her situation, she said.
"It's hard just being a human and homeless," she said.
Herring said she is waiting for money from family in California so she can join them. She has waited for years.
A small group of homeless and needy gather at a plaza bench.
They keep an eye on their watches while chatting, smoking cigarettes and eating the take-home that Fire of God hands out after church service.
There is an 11:30 curfew for the plaza and police usually enforce it strictly.
Four police officers ride by on horseback and the group breaks up, heading in different directions. Two of them, Billy Hunt and Matt, walk toward St. Francis House.
St. Francis House, Saturday 11:50 p.m.
Matt splits off to visit the Foodmax convenience store while Hunt continues to St. Francis House.
Hunt was recently released from jail after being transferred to Gainesville from Polk County on Dec. 31, according to a Polk County police report.
He was released with no money and no way home.
Because it isn't yet below 45 degrees the Cold Nights Shelter program is not in effect and it takes permission from the police to get into one of the shelters.
Hunt spots a man lying on the ground on a side street next to St. Francis House. He is wrapped in a sleeping bag and lying with his head against the wheel of a bike.
When asked if it is a safe place to sleep, the man on the ground replies, "You see where I'm sleeping don't you?"
But Hunt isn't convinced. He'd rather walk around Gainesville all night than have another run-in with the police, he said.
After wandering the nearby neighborhood, Hunt considers searching for Tent City, a homeless community in a nearby patch of woods.
He doesn't know exactly where it is. People who live there usually don't talk about its location.
Just outside Tent City, Sunday 12:30 a.m.
As Hunt wanders toward Tent City, he tries to recall second-hand descriptions of how to get there.
A man on a bicycle rides up and asks Hunt if he is looking for Tent City.
His name is Rod. He says God sent him to live in Tent City to help others like himself.
"When it's cold I won't let nobody sleep on the ground," he said. "Now in the summertime, that's a different story."
Rod offers an extra tent, and Hunt accepts.
Because Tent City has no power, the camp is dim, illuminated only by sporadic campfires.
"Remember that thing about how there are whole different worlds out there?" Billy asked while entering Tent City, "This is one of them."
Residents estimate between 40 and 45 tents make up the city, but the people change from one day to the next. Rod's extra tent is a red, black and tan Sports Dome tent, and it easily fits two people
As Hunt falls asleep, a nearby woman shouts wildly while a man's low, mumbling voice fills in her silences. Hunt guesses that she caught her man cheating.
A clear sentence surfaces: "I want you out of my life!"
Hunt chuckled.
"That's gotta be it," he said.
Tent City, Sunday 8:30 a.m.
Hunt wakes up and rummages through his plastic grocery bags, retrieving a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush.
He donated plasma the day before to get $35 for necessities: hygiene products and packs of cigarettes, brand 305.
Going a day without brushing his teeth isn't an option, Hunt said.
Nearby is a nearly empty water jug and small bottles of shampoo and conditioner sitting on a wet, wooden clock face. The items belong to Rod.
He has left for the morning and Hunt decides to explore tent city.
Some of the camps are simple, just tents sitting alongside fire pits. Others are more elaborate.
Canvases stretched between trees create walls and give privacy to some of the sites. Found art hangs everywhere. At one site, Christmas ornaments dangle from nets.
Two men built a giant dream catcher with rope above a tent. Al, who helped construct it, said it was done out of boredom.
Like most others in tent city, Al wants to find work, but can't, he said.
He said many homeless are plagued by criminal records and no money for a driver's licenses, which makes finding even low-paying jobs nearly impossible.
Starbucks 201 SE 1st St. Sunday 10 a.m.
Hunt decided he wanted a cup of coffee.
On his way, he stopped by St. Francis House and ran into an old friend, Anthony Davis. Davis suggested Starbucks because of the cheap refills.
They sit at an outside table with their coffee and cigarettes to chat.
"The ten year plan to end homelessness is out of sight, out of mind," Davis said. "There are some of us out here who do want to get on their feet."
Editor's Note: This story is the second of a two-part series in which Staff Writer Hunter Sizemore reports alongside Gainesville's homeless.
