Biography of a Homeless Man

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I hear them get closer and closer as the porch creaks every step to the door. My heart feels like its pounding through my chest, and sweat is pouring off my face as I sprint in a panic. I hear the key turning and the door opening just as I jump out the window. I’ve been staying in that house for over a week now. It’s for sale and real estate agents come by every few days to show it. I’m a light sleeper and I’ve been able to slip out before anyone can see I’ve been staying there. I have no where to go except the street, mission centers, and buildings I break into. I make my way to the mission center about 6 miles away. My feet ache and my stomach hurts from what little food I’ve had to start the day. I panhandled for about an hour making enough money to last a few days. I arrive at the mission just in time before they quite serving breakfast. The smell of sausage makes my stomach squirm with desire. I inhale the biscuits and gravy they have served me and wish for more. I don’t bother asking for more because I know there answer is no. I make my way down the road to McDonalds because my stomach still aches from the lack of food lately. Luckily I made over ten dollars panhandling by a freeway entrance for about an hour. I also use their bathroom to wash my face and clean my self up somewhat. I’m a rare homeless man in the fact that most of my peers are addicts. I choose not to involve my self in that scene. I can’t afford a place to sleep, so...

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