He wanders the streets around my place, always wearing the same black trousers. Sometimes he carries a round stone the size of a canteloupe, which he places in random spots along the street. Other times he stares into space, not moving for hours. I couldn’t figure him out. The other day, though, I met a former resident of street 312 who filled me in on his story. Apparently he was a soldier who fought against the Khmer Rouge in the early 90’s. Today he lives on the street, suffering from post-traumatic stress. Cambodia evidently doesn’t take care of veterans with mental health problems, so he makes his home on a garbage heap outside Wat Prayuvan. The moto guys who hang out outside my door pay him 100 riels (about 2.5 cents) per day for food. In return, he occasionally sweeps the street for stray leaves and gravel.
