No place like home

I have previously shared one of my more peculiar hobbies: force-feeding the homeless drunks of my neighbourhood.

Lately I've been running into one particular one. One night I'd actually already gone home, but went out again in search for him. He refuses to accept a free meal, he never tries to bum a cigarette off me. Over endless cups of tea and coffee and numerous cigarettes we talk about politics, dumb people and football. He's knowledgeable and articulate. And obnoxiously sarcastic.

At the end of the night I go back home and he... I don't know where he goes. I'd like to write about him. I think it just might be the kind of piece I'd even manage to sell. None of those "this is the face of homelessness" reportages, but his story. And not just because I'd like to know it. But I do. I  really want to know how he ended up like that. 

He isn't too keen. But I'm hoping to wear him down one day. (My chosen strategy with men everywhere...)

I hate myself for saying this but he just seems... too good for that kind of life. He could do better. He should do better. 

Encounters like that really make you question stuff. Some years ago I read that most Americans are 2 paychecks away from homelessness. That's how close. I don't even have a paycheck.

So... how far  am I from ending up like that? What does it take? Not finding a job, not having enough money coming in, not being able to keep up with the rent, not having a job to wake up to, having nothing to give life some structure, finding booze just a little too comforting... Perhaps none of us are too good or that kind of life? Perhaps that could happen to all of us?

My place might be small and cost more than I can afford. Technically it's not even mine. But at least I have a place to go to. To store all my shoes and bags in. Somewhere warm and dry to sleep in. Somewhere I don't need to worry about being assaulted, mugged or raped.

And that's how I want to keep it.