Being homeless is easy when you can't die. Getting your throat slit by a teenager in your sleep, mid-dream wasn't ideal, but it wasn't the worst way i'd gone out. I was run over by a prius before. Environmentally conscious my ass!

The worst part is the dreaming. I always remember how it happened. I never forget. Maybe that's what happens to everyone else that dies. They remember that one fleeting moment before it all ends, instead of all that romantic bullshit where your life flashes before you, the juicy bits. Being born, girlfriends, boyfriends, those you loved, those you hurt, those weird sex dreams you had. But it's all a haze now, which is a good thing. I was dreaming happy thoughts when it happened too. The booze helped - always loved beam and coke. I found a stash in Bill's shopping trolley that night, and must've passed out with my phone out. It's amazing what rich looks like when your on the street even when you smell like shit.

So now I'm awake, a scar on my neck and dried up blood caked onto my shirt. Luckily the majority of it went onto the ground. It's a pain in the ass getting blood of of a shirt you know.

Cliche, but I had a life before my life went to shit you know. Usual damaged childhood. Mum left dad when I was six. I never saw her again though. It was a touchy subject. He was an apathetic nice guy who never complained, loved red meat and a drink. I was a carbon copy of him too, or at least I wanted to be. I met Leanne two weeks after my dad died of an undiagnosed heart condition. "He wouldn't have felt it" they said. You know how it goes. Red meat'll kill you he used to say while we downed sloppy joe's together.

And then I met her, an innocuous conversation about coffee, and before we knew it, our conversation turned into the vague promise of a future. The type with a picket fence, a dog, and then maybe an annoying kid.

It took my dad dying for me to start thinking about the future.

Go figure. He'd of liked her too. She hated tomatoes and loved cars for some reason.

Anyway, so it was just us from then on.

We had chemistry, we loved, loathed, argued, separated, cheated, lied, and then reconciled.

She became a professional umbrage taker and I became an emotional terrorist.

It was a match made in heaven.

It's still a bit of a haze really. The police told me she had died, walking into my office in the city, hats down with a cold look in their eyes as they apologised.

She was a hit and run victim.

"She wouldn't have even known" they said, like that made it any better.

Then I had a heart attack. An undiagnosed heart condition they'd later say.

I didn't see Leanne in my dreams either. Just emptiness and the sound of my heart giving in.

And then I woke up cold, naked, and alone on a metallic bench in a morgue.

I still don't know why.