A young man who recently completed his studies at George Washington University is now setting foot in San Francisco. Yes, the University is ranked as the most expensive in the world, with tuition ranging from forty thousand dollars a year. Armed with his beliefs and ideals, a mental hospital address, his psychology degree, and a few dollar bills that he felt were enough, he ventured to see the world.
The state of California did not make Gilbert a young man with the title of psychiatrist stunned by its beauty. Only a few bothered him, making him so sympathetic to the city that it earned the nickname of the second city with the most expensive cost of living in America: people without homes, who are almost in every corner of the town.
Poor thing? Of course.
He was one of those people who fought for peace, but there was a small corner in a famous city—the number of unemployed and homeless was so large. What peace is he fighting for? Yeah, doesn't he just want the number of mental hospitals around the world to decrease because there are no more war victims? Then what does he see here? Are these also victims of World War?
Mission, the warmest and sunniest area in San Francisco, is Gilbert's destination. His eyes did not leave the street, looking pitifully, and he almost shed tears for some of the children who looked hungry there. Believe it or not, every alley here has at least two homeless people. It does smell.
"Thank you for everything, Sir," Gilbert said politely, giving his taxi fare. He then got off the transport and rushed into a two-star hotel that one of the lecturers who wanted to help him had rented.
Check-in and then clean up. Gilbert lay down then on the bed provided by the hotel. Closed his eyes for a moment. His goal here. He knew this was crazy and that the San Francisco government had been cutting off state funding for the city's Mental Hospitals for a long time. He now sees that it's not just a slide show in his classroom—these lunatics are roaming all over the city.
Gilbert shuddered in horror. He opened his laptop and sent an email to his best friend, hoping to get some insight into his goals. It didn't take long for him to get a reply.
From: Daniel
I totally understand your problem, Gilbert. But believe me, the initial choice is always the best. Your strength is your kind heart, like the heart of an angel, but it can also be a problem because the world is not doing well. Open your eyes and think clearly. You'll get the answer.
Gilbert sighs heavily. It's true what his friend said; they are all here also due to human treasure dredgers. What can a psychiatrist like him do here? He was not one of those social people who could help ease man's burden. Nor is he a politician who might just be able to protest and change everything about government policy. He is not an economic person who can solve problems related to financial tragedies and unemployment.
"Beggars become beggars because they are lazy," Gilbert muttered.
No, like in San Francisco, those words don't apply. This city is too unique; even many other Americans come here to be beggars. Yes, at least in this city, the social service for a beggar is more guaranteed.
Gilbert went back to typing on his computer. Writing there for someone named Dexmon Anderson.
The Mission area can be said to be a Latino Town, where many immigrants of Latin blood live and open businesses. On Mission Street, the vagrants and beggars came from various tribes and skin colors. This is where I am now. I hope to see you as soon as possible.
Just shut up. Gilbert chose to rest his tired body due to the Washington—San Francisco trip. He fell asleep, and when he woke up, he saw the clock on the wall showing 19:44. Apparently, he'd been sleeping long enough. He glanced at his laptop, which was still on. Fortunately, the bat ray is among those that can be said to be sophisticated at this time.
"All right... He didn't respond," Gilbert complained, seeing no reply on his laptop. He's trying to come back. He's racking his brain about what someone she doesn't know wants to do to help him. Age, hobbies, or anything else he does not know. Dexmon Anderson, what kind of person is he? What is clear is that he is "crazy" because he lives in one of these rooms in a San Francisco hospital. Unfortunately, the lecturer did not tell us about the address and arrival. He could have asked for the patient's address by asking someone out there. He didn't think many hospitals in San Francisco would trouble him in his search.
Mr. Dexmon, I'm someone who craves peace. It's just that I don't know what kind of peace I want and what I have to do to get it. For whatever you believe—because I'm sure you don't believe in God, I want a happy ending for this world. It is not for immoral people who wish to have thrones and treasures.
It didn't take long to reply on receipt. Gilbert wanted to cheer but was immediately stopped when presented with a question that he thought was confusing.
The happy end of the world is the saddest. What would it take to end the world if you desire peace—I don't know if that's possible.
Oh My God! Gilbert is trapped. For what he cares about: the end of the world. But what does he care about peace for if he has no motive and fails to carry out his ideals?
Nothing, I probably can't do anything because I would have died when I failed.
Gilbert, pray that the answer is correct. He didn't have to wait long enough to get his reward back.
Langley Porter Psychiatric Hospital
401 Parnassus Street
San Francisco, CA 94143
Surroundings: Inner Sunset, Twin Peaks
No need to ask for information; come in and meet me at the Dandelion Building, Room 130