Peer-led operation gives San Francisco’s unhoused food, work, dignity and more

HE IS SPRAWLED out on the sidewalk, motionless, flushed cheeks framed by high cheekbones. He’s slender, probably in his mid-20s, his straight, coal black hair pulled back, and his orange t-shirt twisted up over his stomach. “He’s OD’ing on fentanyl!” shouts a guy holding a skateboard.

I dialed 911, relayed what I saw and heard, and asked the guy with the skateboard: “How do you know it’s fentanyl?” He gestures to the aluminum foil in the young man’s hand, apparently a telltale sign.