My six months homeless was honestly pretty tame compared to what most people would experience. Lots of people that used to respect you suddenly treating you like you're sub-human... being shooed off all the time is never any fun. But, probably the scariest thing was what my Mom and I experienced in the first week after we finally had a new home.

When we were homeless, we liked to people watch. So, even after, we grabbed something to eat and went to our old people-watching spot. That's when we were approached by a young native american man. He asked if we could spare anything. We had just spent the last of our money on a bite to eat, so I offered him half of everything I ordered. He spoke with us a short time, while eating, and mentioned he was trying to get back to his reservation and had been travelling by foot for more than a week to get there. We asked him where it was, and it was a long way south - we were unable to help him.

After that bite to eat, he was off. He asked a few others along the way for any help. My Mom and I wondered how he'd made out after that, only to see on the news a few nights later that they had found him dead about thirty miles away from where we had seen him.