The New York Post, maintaining its status as that kid in 7th grade who reeks of Axe body spray and gives people "dead arms" in geometry class, was not impressed by the Times' massive profile on the human face of homelessness. They're not even homeless, the Post sneers, wiping snot on the sleeve of its Nautica sweater.
The mother, father and eight kids aren’t really homeless at all. True, they live in housing meant for “homeless families.” But their 540-square-foot unit gives them a solid roof over their heads, in addition to city-provided meals and services.
The family of ten isn't "homeless," they just live in a single room and bathe in a sink and have to wait an hour to use a microwave; their lives are suspended in state-sanctioned uncertainty and crippling impermanence. "Hopeless," maybe, but not homeless!
Yes, the family’s housing has problems, including mice and reports of sexual assaults and other crimes. But the Times and Elliott, like much of the liberal establishment, seem to think it’s the city’s job to provide comfortable lives to outrageously irresponsible parents. In this case, that’s a couple with a long history of drug problems and difficulty holding jobs.
These people want to be free from fear of rape and vermin—what'll they want next? Moist towelettes?
If the city is at fault here, it might well be for having been too generous — providing so much that neither the father nor mother seems much inclined to provide for their kids. That would be a story worth reading.
A story worth reading, the Post says, swinging its unlaced shoes back and forth until they kick the back of your chair. You can't come to my sleepover because you don't have a cell phone.