Conflict, Confusion, and Coexistence: Fighting for Control on 8th and Harrison

Conflict, Confusion, and Coexistence: Fighting for Control on 8th and Harrison

by COLE HADDOCK

On August 19th, 2023, Jennifer Gerlach died behind a dumpster in Berkeley, CA. She died across the street from a Tesla warehouse, an urban farm, and a tea shop. She died after her condition was noted by several outreach workers. She died from maggot infested wounds and diarrhea, a ten minutes drive away from a hospital. She died on 8th and Harrison in the Gilman District, one of the most contested blocks in Berkeley, CA. For years, the City of Berkeley has been trying to manage the unhoused

community there, with outreach teams, sweeps, and law enforcement. As many surrounding encampments have been swept and shut down, the number of people living in the Gilman District has remained high. It is crowded and chaotic. On August 19th, 2023, in one of the richest areas of the country, Jennifer Gerlach died behind a dumpster. How was that allowed to happen?

CHAPTER 1- 8TH AND HARRISON

Ms. Alice Barbee walked out in a dress and blazer, put a rug down, and sat on the curb to wait for her interview. She took the microphone like she knew what she was doing and introduced herself with the type of contagious, passionate grin that would make you either fall in love or vote for her. It makes sense that she’s running for mayor.

Ms. Barbee came to 8th St. fleeing domestic abuse. She had been in Berkeley for ten years, isolated from friends by a possessive partner and 500 miles away from her family in LA. But, “the morning that I thought for sure that [my partner] was going to kill me and my dog, I left and never looked back.” She’s been living in Gilman since March 2022, and she’s a landmark on 8th St., with a well-built tent and a koi fish flag that announces when she’s home. Her dog’s still with her, “sweet if she loves you, loud if she doesn’t.” She’s always wearing a good outfit. If you ask her about the food, she might gloat a bit, saying, “It’s amazing the food that actually comes out of this place. Mackey makes really, really great salmon.” Ms. Barbee describes, “a great support group out here. We build each other up…Even if it isn’t exactly home, it still gives you a sense of it.”

While she spoke, dozens of cars sped by, going to work and staring. The public anonymity of 8th St. bothers Ms. Barbee. A speeding car honked for someone to get out of the way, and she sighed. In an interview with Mark Morrisette, owner of the Berkeley Rep building across the street, he couldn’t name a single person he’d worked next to for years.

“You know, the stigma that comes with homelessness is ridiculous. We might as well all be pit bulls. And nobody likes pit bulls. Like my dog is a pitbull, right? She’s a big old bark dog. And people will cross the street to get away from the side of the street where I’m walking down. And they just don’t realize that she’s the sweetest. She is, you know? If anybody took the time to realize or take the time to notice or even talk to any one of anybody out here, they’d be like, Wow, right?”

The first thing most people notice about 8th & Harrison is how much stuff there is. There are tents, shopping carts, beds, clothes, bikes, and RVS. There are boxes and dogs and trash and collected recycling. It’s people’s lives, all laid out on the sidewalk.

The city receives a lot of complaints about the appearance of 8th and Harrison. Business owners say the encampment is a deterrent to their customers. Nearby residents say it’s unsafe, and the stewards of the creek at the end of the road complain of environmental degradation.

In response, the City of Berkeley tried to negotiate with the camp residents. They agreed to an unofficial set of rules for the residents, including keeping their tents to one side of the streets and out of the creek. In return, the city put it in a dumpster for the dozens of people living there to throw away their trash.

But fundamentally, when people don’t have anywhere to go, neither does their stuff. The dumpster didn’t solve that problem.

There’s conflicting reports on how much notice the residents of 8th St were given, but in October, the Environmental Management Division, the Public Works Division, and the Homeless Outreach Team decided that the conditions had deteriorated unacceptably at 8th and Harrison. Citing rodent harborage conditions, they declared the whole neighborhood an environmental health hazard.

The City of Berkeley issued a nuisance abatement to the residents of the Gilman District. If they didn’t clean up their own belongings, the City would.

For the health and safety of these residents and the entire Berkeley community, the Homeless Response Team respectfully recommends that you order immediate abatement of the public nuisance conditions in this area (specifically, Harrison St from Tenth St to Sixth St, and Eighth St from the creek to Gilman St), including destruction of any property constituting such a nuisance if the nuisance cannot be abated otherwise, pursuant to BMC 11.36.050 and 11.40.130 through 11.40.120.

CHAPTER 2- THE SWEEP

“So a sweep is one of the most miserable things I’ve ever seen in my entire life. The city will arrive where people are sleeping, usually around seven in the morning. And they will wake them up by washing their high beams or shaking the tents. Usually, the first people that arrive are the police and homeless outreach team. So the homeless outreach team will go around and talk to people and say, you know, do you want to go inside today, but they don’t actually have any resources to offer. Public works will be pressuring people to move, and throwing things away. Sometimes it’s trash, sometimes it’s people’s belongings, they rarely stop to ask. And then by 8:30 , most people are gone. I mean, they’ve taken their belongings with them across the street, or they’ve had them thrown in a dump truck.”

Interview with Director Ian James, Coalition on Homelessness

At 6:40 am, on October 4, 2022, residents of 8th St & Harrison were woken to police cars and flashing lights. Over the next twelve hours, police officers and outreach cleaned the streets. Medicine, food, toiletries, recycling, and bedding were thrown away. They bargained with residents to leave, and threatened arrest. They offered small replacement tents and hygiene items.

It was all documented by Yesica Prado, a resident of 8th and Harrison, advocate, and journalist. Her documentation, and the testimonies of advocates and residents, describe a profoundly traumatizing event. In police records, they describe calling the ambulance for a heart-related medical emergency.

Ms. Barbee had just been diagnosed by the mobile medical unit with congestive heart failure. The day of the sweep she described, “they literally took everything that everybody had. All of it. I mean like anything that there was– any heirlooms, all of the medication that I’ve been taking. They said if you want to keep anything, get it across the street. So we got it across the street. And as soon as all that was done, they came back and they took all that stuff too. I literally was almost gonna have a heart attack. They had to have the paramedics come out and check me out to make sure I wasn’t going to just die.”

Prado’s report documents mental health crises not disclosed in the public police records. At 10:11 am, “Shawna Garcia is asking for help. She feels threatened, and fears being pushed back to Second Street, where the city was allowing people to live in tents and makeshift structures — but that was also where her abusive ex-boyfriend was living…. Shawman is clearly in distress. After city employees take her tent, she scrounges in the roadway trying to save whatever food she can gather. “

12:01 pm: Rufus, who was hit by a car and cannot move easily, was left on the sidewalk without proper clothing for hours. His belongings were thrown away.

1:11 pm: Jeff asks for reasonable time to move his stuff out of the area. His wife, Eren, is breaking down in tears inside their tent with her dog. She is unresponsive and shut down from the stress, her mind scattered on what to do next. ‘My wife is losing it,’ Jeff says. ‘They are just breaking her down more.’”

Months later, all of the residents remember the sweep. Chloe Madison, an RV resident, remembered that, “They had the bulldozer and a bunch of garbage trucks and they were just tearing shit apart apart. It was nightmarish. Honestly, it was quite just disgusting to watch other humans tear down the living quarters of other humans. I think we all got through it. Everybody’s still alive. But it’s really fucked up shit.”

By the next week, conditions had pretty much returned to the way they were, according to a complaint email from a neighbor. This time, the city claimed they could not do anything about it. As Beth Gerstein from the City of Berkeley explained, “We need housing solutions for the 20 plus individuals that have been sleeping on the street down there which is not something we currently have. We need addiction treatment resources and supportive housing for seriously mentally ill people. We don’t have those either. This should be more readily available within the county and state, but it is not, and Berkeley, like all cities, is the first line of defense and we just aren’t able to keep up.” The city admitted that it wouldn’t do anything serious again unless the conditions deteriorated to warrant another sweep.

Today, 8th and Harrison is more crowded than ever. As unhoused people get pushed out of almost every other place in Berkeley, this is the only place to go. There’s almost double the tents as there were a few months ago. It’s crowded, and chaotic. The City apologized for their treatment of unhoused people, and promised reform.

On August 19th, 2023, resident Jennifer Gerlach died behind the dumpster on 8th & Harrison.

How did we get here?

CHAPTER 3 - DAN THE BLACKSMITH

There’s a whirlpool in Dan’s yard. The whirlpool is fast and strong, and pulls all of the flood water underneath tenth street and out of his backyard. Dan built this concrete diverter with his friend when he first

moved into the house thirty years ago. See, he can’t allow it to flood. His house is only ten feet away from the creek– if it got out of control, his entire house could be gone.

On 10th St in the Gilman District, Dan’s also constantly fightingto defend his property from unhoused people that live nearby. He gestures at the fence that lines his property. “One day, I came home, and on my front steps, two people were fucking. I don’t know if it was consensual, I don’t know,” He trails off. “But I yelled them off, and then I put this fence up. I had to keep that out.” The fence isn’t that tall, or official looking. It would be easy to jump. 8th and Harrison is surrounded by barbed wire and cameras. The businesses around the encampment want to stay safe. The fence in Dan’s yard does its job—this land is not public. It is fenced; it is his private property. Stay off.

From the inside of his living room, Dan looks out at Codornices Creek through an iron barred window. He shows pictures of the squirrel that he has been feeding, as well as some birds that he’s watched hunting on his property. He points out the willow trees that he’s trimmed every year. They’re native willow trees, grown from sticks into a massive canopy, and he’s very proud of them. He talks about the rainbow trout that swim up the creek.

As much as he documents the beauty in his yard, he also carefully documents how unhoused people affect it. Showing a massive fileof photos he had taken of the encampment that had taken up residence across the street, he says, “Look at how much trash is there. It’s a dumpster; it’s so dirty.”

Dan Dole has lived in the East Bay for a long time, and this is not how it used to be. He says the unhoused population has increased significantly, the city doesn’t care, and the neighborhood has completely changed.

Dan doesn’t think they’re necessarily terrible people, but they need serious help. He says, “They know where I live. I have to protect myself.” He shows me pictures of a man that had accosted him once outside the front of his house as an example of how dangerous it’s been sometimes.

His neighbors have similar sentiments- the owner of the plumbing company next door said that the unhoused population is hurting his business. He’s been in Berkeley for decades, and now his customers refuse to come down here. He got robbed not that long ago. He says, “Those people need serious help. They’re dirty, and the university and the city won’t do anything about it.”

The Gilman District is supposed to be a light industrial neighborhood, known historically for being worker’s’ and artist’s’ housing. But a 1-bed, 1-bath apartment in the Gilman District rents out for $1,725. One of the newer neighbors on Harrison St is a Tesla service center. It is hard enough not to be pushed out of the neighborhood, without unhoused people making property values lower, and scaring customers away.

Dole says the City of Berkeley doesn’t care about small business owners– if they did, they would protect the people and businesses down here.

CHAPTER 4 - ENVIRONMENTALISM

Susan Schwartz sympathizes with businesses. “People don’t want to come to their premises- It’s creepy.” From her view, nobody wants to visit Codornices Creek, either. She’s spent the last twenty years trying to maintain this creek, and has watched as unhoused people have camped, started fires, and trampled plants on the creek. “I mean, we’ve had our work destroyed repeatedly. It’s heartbreaking. We didn’t get paid to do any of this. We’re trying to make something beautiful.”

In her own words, Susan Schwartz has been a writer, a mother, a sleuth, an environmental janitor, a failure, a leader, and a needle pusher. If you ask her directly, though, she says, “My name is Susan Schwartz. I am an old lady.”

Schwartz has been co-running the neighborhood group Friends of Five Creeks for twenty-fiveyears. The collective of citizens, students, and nonprofits works to “control erosion, remove trash and harmful invasives, and plant natives, creating varied and welcoming urban oases for people and animals” (2021 Annual Report). One of their biggest projects has been at Codornices Creek, which runs right next to the encampment on 8th St.

After being infilled, trenched, and polluted by West Berkeley’s early industrial land use, Codornices Creek was put in a concrete pipe. When a creek goes underground, the ecosystems and species they

support cease to exist. In 1995, activists pushed to bring Codornices Creek back to the surface.

In two major efforts, the first in 1994 and the second in 2003, Codornices Creek was unearthed. A trench was dug, willow trees were planted, and today it flows freely between Sixth and Ninth Streets in the Gilman District.

After the unearthing, however, Codornices Creek quickly fell into major disrepair. As Schwartz described it, “[Cornodices Creek] went to hell. And was completely overgrown with an invasive that essentially just blanketed everything.“ In 2018, volunteers discovered about “half million dollars in escrow for maintenance of restorations [at Codornices Creek], and that escrow was going to expire in a couple of years.” The discovery of these funds refueled the efforts of Friends of Five Creeks, who removed trash, cleared invasives, and taught a lot more people to love Codornices Creek.

Today, Codornices Creek stands as a testament to urban green spaces, with informative signs, paths, and birds everywhere. Rufus, a resident of 8th St., loves the creek. It’s quiet, beautiful, and green. Rufus moves slowly, going ten feet a minute from old injuries in an old wheelchair. The quietest part of the creek, across the street from Dan Dole’s house, is a couple of blocks and maybe a couple hours walk from his tent. It’s next to the baseball field, and on good days, he can eat his doughnuts and breathe the air while sitting next to the

creek.

He’s not the only unhoused person that loves Codornices Creek. Across the Bay, unhoused people have less access to water than meets the international WASH standards for refugees. Without access to water, or restrooms, people often end up near creeks. When people get swept off the streets and out of the public eye, they often end up in natural spaces. In places like Codornices Creek, there is water, seclusion, and less police harassment.

Susan Schwartz, Dan Dole, and Rufus all love the same creek. But for Schwartz and Dole, their fight for survival isn’t about finding food, struggling to maintain sanitation, or desperately needing clean and quiet time. It is about property ownership, protecting their neighborhood, and long-term accountability. When asked if it was possible for the 8th St. community to reconcile under shared goals and understandings, Schwartz said, explicitly, “If we take it that the unhoused people are part of the community, no.”

CHAPTER 5 – THE FRUSTRATION

Schwartz is well-known for her emails. Every official interviewed for this article had been on the receiving end of one. She is an educated and connected activist. She sends emails documenting people stomping over native vegetation, pulling up flags, setting fires, and releasing sewage into the creek. Her organization doesn’t host as many events at the creek as they used to for safety fears.

She expressed sympathy for “society’s failures of these people” and their “impossible situations”,” but using language that is common amongst housed people in the community., sShe describes the unhoused (and RV) community as “addicts “ and”deeply insane people” overwhelming the neighborhood. To her, it is obvious that “as long as there is Berkeley’s outdoor insane asylum on Eighth St.,” Codornices Creek will be continually destroyed.

Across the Bay Area, this is common. There is public support for sympathetic policies, more housing, and a network of nonprofits and housed people trying to assist unhoused people. But there is also a growing sense of frustration with a perceived lack of community responsibility on the part of unhoused people.

A map of San Francisco went viral after documenting reported human feces sites across the city. Another NBC investigative map went viral after documenting sightings of feces and needles in downtown San Francisco. Both maps were trying to alert pedestrians of where not to walk, and also bring light to the issue of homelessness. Or at least, the dirtiness of unhoused people.

When discussion of homelessness focuses on “filthiness,” and the degradation of the natural environment, a sense of injustice all over the Bay Area begins to build. Someone took out a full page ad claiming that San Francisco had let the “tax-paying” citizens down by “catering to the lowest common denominator.”

Nationally, East Bay and San Francisco have made headlines about being filthy, and overrun by homelessness. Notably, in 2019, President Donald Trump tried to get the EPA to cite the city of San Francisco, saying, “They’re in serious violation. This is environmental, there are needles and feces flowing into the ocean…. and they have to clean it up. We can’t have our cities going to hell…We can’t lose our great cities like this.”

Mayor Breed of San Francisco expressed frustration with unhoused residents, saying, “I work hard to make sure [housing and homelessness] programs are funded for the purposes of trying to get these individuals help, and what I am asking you to do is work with your clients and ask them to at least have respect for the community — at least, clean up after themselves and show respect to one another and people in the neighborhood.”

Keith Lichten, from the San Francisco Water Quality Control Board said as an environmental regulator, “Of course, we’re concerned about water quality, specifically about discharges of human waste of sewage, and trash associated with homelessness. But we also have an eye on longer term solutions, jobs, housing, supportive services. And recognizing the limits of resources that are available.” The ideal of long-term and underfunded solutions doesn’t solve the on the ground realities of places like the Gilman District.

On August 8, 2022, Susan Schwartz sent an email to the city of Berkeley, also CC’ing the State Waterboard. In it, she describes the “death of Codornices Creek.” She cited sewage discharges into the creek and describes “Camps overflowing with trash and belongings now occupy the entire sidewalk and spill into the street, with conditions worse than any I recall from the slums of Africa.” Her final complaint was that, “Much of the creek below Eighth Street is more attractive than ever before…[but] the public cannot enjoy or feel safe in the creekside trails (now tent occupied).”

The State Waterboard has the power to review the City of Berkeley’s natural water quality, and if it deems that the City has violated sewage regulations, can enforce the codes with stricter regulation and fines.After this email, the Waterboard followed-up with their concerns and scheduled meetings with the City of Berkeley to voice their concerns for the creek and conduct a walk-by test. Between the date that Susan Schwartz sent her provocative email and the Waterboard came to visit, the City of Berkeley held the October encampment sweep referenced above.

This email, and the dozens of other continuous complaints about the filthof 8th & Harrison, hits a nerve within the City of Berkeley. Peter Radu, Assistant to the City Manager for the City of Berkeley and often the one deciding how the city will manage its unsheltered population, expressed his frustrations.

“I think I mean, yes, I think I would be lying if I told you that the city wasn’t feeling frustrated about the situation down there,” He said. “Mostly because we’ve tried to do everything possible to just maintain cleaner and better conditions.” He acknowledges that the people at 8th & Harrison need housing, but refers the responsibility of that to Alameda County.

It’s up to Alameda County to house people long-term, not the City of Berkeley. All they can provide are small numbers of temporary shelter beds and motel room vouchers, which many people refuse because they’re often temporary, crowded, and controlling. Without the ability to solve the problem completely, the City of Berkeley “really did a lot to try to maintain as safe conditions as possible for that encampment over the course of several months.” They provided a dumpster, showers, and a portapotty. Yesica Prado would counter this, say that it took months for the city to deliver on those promises, and that they were insufficient.

But, Radu says, the residents just didn’t maintain their side of the deal. He says that, “The conditions were so bad that the environmental health inspectors were very concerned about what they saw–the unmitigated human and animal waste, the rodent harbourage conditions, the loose and scattered syringes, what appeared to be raw sewage in buckets, like it was really, really bad conditions. So bad that they had to be declared an imminent health hazard.”

Radu talked about the importance of keeping public space open to the public, “to the university village students going to work and class”’ and the nearby business owners. When asked about the traumatic nature of the sweeps, he didn’t respond, saying, “I’m going to counter your question with a question. At what point, acknowledging that encampments are the new normal for the foreseeable future, at what point do we have to enforce some semblance of a social norm?”

CHAPTER 6 - CONSIDER THE HOMELESS

Cars don’t stop coming on Harrison St. Over and over, cars screeched around RJ’s wheelchair. One man even slowed to yell, “HEY! You could get hit.” RJ shook his head, and kept moving. The reason he was in this wheelchair, the reason he was pulling himself down the middle of the street, was because he had already been hit the year before.

Rufus was hit near the 580 in South Berkeley, which was one of the biggest encampments in Berkeley before it got swept out. Many of the unhoused people living in the Gilman District have already been kicked out of a lot of places- Adeline St, Albany Bulb, the Berkeley Marina, and the Aquatic Park. Amber Whitson, a well-known inhabitant of Albany Bulb, a previous dumpsite where many unhoused people set up camp, said, “They’re just running people around. It’s the leaf blower effect. Blow your problems onto somebody else’s sidewalk. I don’t think they understand physics too well. Everybody’s got to be somewhere.”

Rufus is in a wheelchair and finds it difficult to get off the ground and out of the tent. He pulls himself along by his toes, going astronomically slowly towards the McDonald’s or the donut shop a few blocks away. He is missing an eye and a finger, and looks a lot older than he is. Asking Okeya Vance why he wasn’t on the top of the list to get housed, she said he needed a nurse and assistance, and there aren’t the resources for that. He also wasn’t that compliant with them. So instead of anything, he would stay on the street.

Rufus lives right next to a dirt street planter, right next to the rat holes documented in the city’s public health report. He glared at them, and said that the rats were evil. He said the pavement was hard on his back, and every time we speak, he has a new plan to get an RV or an apartment.

Lady J and Alejandro’s problem is that people think they’re mean. I asked them what brought them together, and they both said, “we don’t take shit from no one.” They’d both been to prison. They’d done hard time in hard places, and they learned the kind of walls you put up to survive in those sorts of worlds.

Lady J had grown up institutionalized. “No. I don’t have family to help support me. I have to do everything on my own. And that’s hard. Especially being a female. I grew up in and out of foster care and group homes since I was three. I started running away from home at the age of I think 10. I was bounced from foster home to foster home from group home to foster home from foster home to group home. And

finally,when I was 16, they’re like, ‘we’re locking you up until you’re 18.’” She said she lost everything in prison. Lady J doesn’t trust anyone, anymore, except her dogs.

“I’m not like most girls. I’m very different. I look like a girl but I can handle my own. I’m not really afraid of anything. Except the dark. Don’t tell nobody. (Everyone busted up laughing).” Lady J recycles for a living. It’s hard work- she collects pounds and pounds of metal to drag to the recycling center everyday. She’s on the waiting list for housing, but won’t go into temporary shelter for fear of losing her dogs.

Walking up to Alejandro, Ms. Barbee was cheering him on as he spun rings. He got shy in front of us though, and asked if we just wanted to talk instead. He said growing up in Richmond, he never used to get shy, but “Just going back and forth to the penitentiary. It gave me to the point where I felt like I can’t be in public. Like, you know, I got post traumatic. I can’t be in big stores, you know. It’s anxiety attacks now.”

He was deeply skeptical of law enforcement, and talked about getting dragged to jail and about starving while incarcerated. He’d been harassed by police officers, and rejected job offers. He talked about a judge asking him where he was gonna end up. “Oh, well, are you going to the shelter? Are you going back to the penitentiary? It’s clear you’re trying to just make me a statistic.”

Alejandro talked about not being able to go into a Target. “I used to like that type of environment. I mean, I played football, for crying out loud. I played baseball and you know, you smack a homerun at the end, your whole team waiting for you right there. I can’t do that no more. I can’t be around people like that no more. They ruined me a little. That was why people like to be around me, because I was a people’s person. I’m not a people person anymore. And that’s, that’s making me bitter.”

Asking Lady J and Alejandro why they hadn’t gotten housed yet, they both said it was because they weren’t nice enough for the workers. Lady J said, “I just don’t like them putting their noses up to us because we were them. You know what I mean? They can lose what they have at any moment– they could hit somebody in a crosswalk and go to prison and lose everything. For vehicular homicide. You know what I mean? And it’s not their fault. But still, they still got their noses turned up to us. I don’t like it. I don’t like stuck up people.”

There’s dozens of stories on Gilman St. There’s Stan, who wears bright pink glasses and lost his arm in a corn picker in rural Minnesota. There’s Felix, who accompanied every answer with an improv guitar solo. There’s Alice Barbee, Chloe Madison, Keith, Sissy, and Hassan. There are formerly incarcerated people, Black and brown and white people, trans people, mothers, fathers, and dogs. There are musicians, artists, and chefs. There is every type of person that can fall through the cracks.

Between 2011 and 2017, the Bay Area created 531,400 new jobs but approved only 123,801 new housing units, a ratio of 4.3 jobs for every unit of housing. In 1955, there were 558,239 severely mentally ill patients in the nation’s public psychiatric hospitals. In 1994, this number had been reduced to 71,619. Gavin Newsom is emptying the prisons. Hard and addictive drugs are readily available at 8th & Harrison.

There are endless ways to end up on the streets. There are endless ways to end up broke, struggling, and tired. There aren’t endless things needed to get off the streets, though. People need mental health care. People need housing. People need patience, and follow-ups. People need time, effort, and care, and there just aren’t enough resources available.

Yesica Prado is an East Bay investigative reporter whose work has been referenced above. Prado explained that as a graduate student at the U.C . Berkeley School of Journalism, “I basically ended up having to give up my apartment. I couldn’t pay rent anymore. And then that’s how I ended up getting the vehicle. I had no idea what to expect. I just think it was like, I’m just gonna do this, because I’m gonna try to get to school.”

At sweeps, city council meetings, and in solving everyday conflicts, Prado has been appointed as the advocate for 8th & Harrison. She’s spent years showing up, and telling real stories about the people at 8th & Harrison. And nothing much has changed.

“You pour your heart out to them. And you tell them like, this is how it really is. And at the end of the day, they’re not just gonna do whatever they were gonna do anyways, you know? Yeah, so it almost feels like yeah, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

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