You may see me selling Street Sense on Connecticut Avenue, or at 18th and H streets, or at Friendship Heights. If it weren’t for this 16-page paper, you our dedicated readers might not be reading this right now. But it seems like I was given a mission to spread the news about the poor and the homeless.
For you to get the real story, allow me to take you back to around this time last year. I was living with my father and working dead-end jobs. I worked hard for pennies a day; I was told to get what I can. My dad and I crossed the poverty line when he retired so I had to leave for Job Corps to obtain my diploma.
After that success I returned home to find my father had not moved out of his bed for three entire months. Confused and worried, I did what I could to earn a living. I worked temp jobs and marketed for a cleaning service on the side. But like all of us I was not safe.
Shortly after my 22nd birthday I became homeless. It was then that all I know was turned upside down. Each day and night turned into constant torture. I was uneducated and had barely even heard of a shelter, or issues like hypothermia.
For the next six months I slept in cars, on a porch, and finally underground. Since then I have left the neighborhood.
When I left I still didn’t know what to do but I had an ace in the hole – “Street Sense.” Its talented staff, hard-working volunteers, interns, board members and vendors like myself started to give me confidence.
I love to write and advocate for the homeless. Just being homeless is the hard part. But my real power comes whenever a person buys a paper and actually reads it from end to end. And it gives me great joy to meet each one of you.
Now, as I approach my 24th birthday, I can only pray that our efforts (Street Sense’s, yours and mine) will empower homeless people like myself. One newspaper at a time, until we all reach our destiny and reach that one universal goal: Home.
