Foundations Vol. II

     I sighed after he passed by me. He looked familiar, but I had no idea where I'd seen him before. It was just something about him...his eyes maybe? The shape of his face? I had better things to worry about. "Couldn't even have given me a dollar," I said to myself, "I guess I'll have to wait and get more another time." I sighed again, then stood up. The biggest issue with my homelessness had always been the boredom. I could always scavenge some food up from somewhere, and my car's heater kept me warm enough, but the boredom killed me. So, like almost every other homeless guy I met, I turned to drugs.
     I know the look you're giving me right now, so before you say anything else let me just say that you don't have the SLIGHTEST idea of exactly how boring being homeless is. I had a job, I never had any problems with staying alive, but I could only sleep so much, and every day has twenty-four hours. I worked as a cashier in a Mcdonald's; Before my boss fired me from my office job, I was actually just another desk jockey working nine-to-five.
     So let me explain how I became homeless; my roommate's check bounced and my landlord didn't legally have to tell me. That's it. That's the whole reason. Dumb right? To be fair, I couldn't have covered both payments anyways, so it's not like it would've made a difference. Of course, I couldn't find a place with a shower until I got used to being homeless, and eventually people at work started complaining at the stench. Boom, the boss man fired me.
     Okay, now back to the drugs. I met this one guy, everyone I knew called him Tim. He was kind of a prick, but he had good weed, and that was all that mattered. Never tried to kill me either, so we gradually became friends. I asked him a ton of stuff about his life, and apparently the first time he started drinking when he was twelve because his parents were abusive and his life spiralled out of control from there.
      Him telling me about his childhood always made me think of my own. I never saw my parents much, they were always busy working and trying to get by. They were always pressed for cash and worried about the next payday, almost all of my clothes were bought in a yearly trip to the Salvation Army, etc. Dad died a few years ago of a heart attack, and Mom and I haven't talked since. I kinda miss her, but it's my own fault that I can't see her without feeling guilty. According to my brother Aaron, she's doing all right. Maybe I should see about a vacation to visit them and apologize for everything...