I checked all my pockets to find some loose change for coffee, but not just any coffee. I craved what every middle-aged white soccer mom in America craves from Starbucks – a pumpkin spice latte. Though I wasn’t middle-aged (yet) or a woman, the allure of a good pumpkin spice latte on a brisk fall day still captivated me. After all this time, I was still in disbelief that something so delicious existed. Who invented this drink? They deserve a holiday or, at the very least, a city street named after them. It was undoubtedly worth the $5.50, even though I didn’t have $5.50 to spend.

Once again, I found myself flat broke and bored, yearning to escape the confines of my apartment. My plan was to grab my iPad, get a coffee, and find a spot to smoke cigarettes and write all afternoon while soaking up some vitamin D. With $4.75 in loose change, I thought, "good enough, I'll just get a coffee." I grabbed my iPad and headed to Starbucks, opting for my usual regular coffee. As I returned to my apartment, the walls seemed to close in on me, and I couldn't handle the confinement anymore. I decided to sit across the street in the doorway of a closed business.

The weather was warm with a cool breeze, and I had at least three hours of sunlight left to enjoy. Sitting in the doorway, however, came with an unpleasant reminder of the city's challenges – the stench of urine. Someone must have used the entrance as a toilet again. Yet, for me, it was oddly perfect. This doorway might have been a makeshift shelter for some, possibly even a place where people slept or met their unfortunate end. The streets were filled with individuals experiencing homelessness – some passed out in corners, others shooting up, a man talking to himself in the middle of the road, and a lady barking at a stray cat. It was a chaotic sight, a normality I wished wasn't the case. 

I lived in Korea town which is a neighborhood in central Los Angeles, centered near Eighth Street and Irolo Street., not the best area but certainly not the worst in LA. My building, considered low-income or transitional housing, seemed nice to me, given my previous experiences with homelessness. Having an actual roof over my head was a luxury, a perspective shift that Skid Row had instilled in me. My past involved a different path – addiction, drug dealing, a three-year haze of sleep deprivation, and eventual downfall.

Surprisingly, I survived that tumultuous period. I partied every day, did drugs, and sold them relentlessly. A necessary part of the job, or so I told myself. A responsible  drug dealer, after all, always samples  the product before selling it. I mean would you trust a sober drug dealer who didn’t Sample the goods? I wouldn’t. Despite excelling in my trade, the excessive drug use took a toll on my body and mind. After three years my Severe paranoia set in, and I felt the world closing in on me. A moment of clarity occasionally surfaced, but it was fleeting, leaving me locked in my apartment, peering through blinds like a tweaker. Eventually I decided no more and I had to get out. I lived in fear at the thought of being in jail, A fate that was just around the corner for me if I didn’t clean up my act . 

Desperate for change, I decided to come clean with my family. While they appreciated my honesty, their assistance was limited. Their mindset echoed, "You've made your bed, now lie in it." Without substantial help, I was on the brink of homelessness. Losing everything forced me to quit drugs, primarily because I had no money left to buy them. The journey ahead was uncertain, but at least it marked the beginning of a new chapter.

I was able to secure a room in a shelter on skid row and had to start my life over from scratch. This time I had to do it sober and with no money. Not sure how I did it but I somehow found a way. Now here I was in my late 30’s and not living in a shelter. I was very happy for that, but I honestly thought I would have had more figured out by now. If you would’ve asked me where I see myself in 20 years 20 years ago, I probably wouldn’t have thought, “By thirty-eight I’m hoping to be in low-income housing white-knuckling it through sobriety! Woo hoo!” But here I was in low-income housing white-knuckling it through sobriety. I felt like a failure and I had nobody to blame but myself. I took out my iPad from my man purse and opened Google Docs ready to write. But what would I write? "Dear Diary, today I saw a crazy homeless person standing in the middle of the road next to a woman yelling at a cat, and I thought, 'Thank God that’s not me.' This was not a moment in time I wanted to savor. It felt like a bad dream, and there was no end in sight. Not a happy story."

I looked up from writing and saw a little girl walking down the street towards me. She was walking with a red drawstring bag in her hand, and there was a white Toyota Corolla next to her that was driving slowly. She walked up to me and smiled. She said, "Hi," and I smiled back. "Hello. How are you?" I asked.

"Good. Thank you. This is for you," she said and handed me the bag. She walked to the car and turned back, saying, "God bless you, sir. Have a good day," and she climbed in the car, and they drove off. What was that all about? I opened the bag and pulled out a small bottle of mouthwash, antibacterial lotion, deodorant, a bottle of Axe body spray, antibacterial spray, toothbrush, toothpaste, a bar of soap, and a few samples of cologne I had never heard of. What was all this? Is she trying to tell me I smell or something? Possibly. No wait. That little brat thought I was homeless. Did I look that disheveled? I thought I looked fine when I left. I can’t believe that little girl had the nerve to assume I was homeless. What a mean-spirited, bitchy thing to assume. I jumped to my feet and dropped the bag on the pavement. I yelled out, “Wait! Come back here, you little brat. I’m not even homeless! I mean I was, but I have an apartment now so you shouldn’t assume things…” I screamed, but it was too late. The little do-gooder was gone. I thought I was feeling bad about myself before, but now I felt worse. Thanks a lot, kid. I collected my new bag of anti-smelling products and packed up my iPad and headed back to my place to sit alone in my apartment and feel sorry for myself. What a crappy afternoon.