A little boy, around the age of ten, walks past, clutching his mother's hand. He tugs his mother's arm and grinds his black dress shoes into the sidewalk. "Mommy, can I have a dollar?"

The mother stops and peers down at him. "Why?" she looks tired.

She wears a pretty purple dress and a fancy-looking necklace. Her high-heeled shoes click against the city pavement as she taps her foot impatiently.

"For the man," says the boy, pointing towards me. "His sign says he's hungry."

The mother stares at me for a second. "No, not today, Billy, we're going to be late to church."  she says, beginning to drag him away.

"But mommy, he's hungry, and he looks like grandpa."

At this the woman only walks faster pulling the little boy, Billy did she say his name was, behind her.

The boy is right about one thing, I am hungry. It’s been three days since I’ve eaten. But worse is my hunger for liquor. I haven’t been sober for this long in four years. I haven't had enough money to buy myself alcohol in weeks, and the little money I have earned is barely enough to feed myself. Although, I really should get sober anyhow, that's the first step to getting off the streets. That and a job. Hell no. The job’s a laugh. They don’t hand over jobs to people who don’t have a place to shower or a billing address. So housing first, somehow, and then a job.

But first I have to think about winter, even though I can feel the sticky August weather, I know it’s approaching fast. And I am in no way ready for it with my thin clothing, lack of warm sleeping materials, and a couple dimes to my name. It’s funny that these basic needs are now my survival.

God, I could barely remember being Billy's age. Carefree and innocent. Young enough to have to hold my mother’s hand when I crossed the street but old enough to play kickball at the park with my friends until the sun set. The church bell across the square clangs and I remember how long those services used to feel. The sticky, hot room and the preacher droning on and on. My mother would shush me as I tried to climb across the pews. Lolli, my baby sister, used to gurgle at me and smile as I got yelled at for being unable to sit still. I should have listened to my parents more, maybe then I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Lolli… I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her. Once my drinking got bad we all lost contact. Then I landed here.

The church bell clangs and a mob of people begin to file out, all dress in their Sunday finest. I stare down at my too big clothes, somewhat fraying and torn. Looking around at the bustling square I watch how people glance over their shoulders at me and hurry past as if I’m going to rob them. F***ing idiots. I’m hungry but I’m not a thief. That’s the one thing I promised myself I would never do, steal. I’ve seen other people do it. The flash of a hand into a coat pocket, an accidental bump and a muttered apology, no one’s the wiser. Sometimes I can’t remember my name because all I hear all day is the words people mutter under their breath as they pass. Scumbag, dirty rat, drunk, druggie, beggar, stupid piece of s***.

Across the street I see the boy, Billy, and his mother go into a burger shop. What I wouldn’t give for some liquor. At the moment though, I’m so hungry I’d settle on a burger or even just some fries. 

A couple minutes later the bell on the door of the burger store jangles and Billy and his mother walk out onto the sidewalk. Billy’s eating a burger, the mustard and ketchup dripping out of it onto his dress-shirt. Giant globs of red and yellow against the white that will probably stain. His mother has her back turned and is digging through her purse. Suddenly Billy sees me.  He holds up an untouched burger and some fries and begins waving them around.

“Sir, look we got you some food,” he yells. Then I watch in horror as he dashes into the street towards me, oblivious to the car speeding towards him.

“No!” I yell, leaping to my feet. Sprinting into the street I shove Billy out of the way. I can hear Billy’s mother shrieking his name in terror as the car slams into me.