The night I visited Sylvia’s Place last month was an unseasonably warm November evening. When the drop-in program began at 6 pm the place was quiet, but people trickled in steadily, greeting each other like old friends with hugs and kisses. Light purple walls framed the long rectangular room. There was a big industrial kitchen on one side, and on the other side giant piles of clothes sat on top of counters. (Donations free for the picking.) Lockers lined the wall for the residents limited belongings.
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