Go ahead and kill me now. It'll be okay, really.

When life is little more than waking up and struggling through another day. Living in the weeds in South Columbus, what does this man have to live for? He owns nothing that requires electricity to power it, he cannot stand in a line in a grocery store waiting to pay for anymore than he can carry back to his camp and even if he could get in line he would have to beg for the money to pay for it. His worldly pssesions are rolled up in dirty blankets that haven't been laundered in years, his toilet is a five gallon plastic bucket or the side of building or the pavement or a bush. He worries every night when he goes to sleep in his box that someone might slit his throat and that he may never wake up. And no one but the homeless strangers he shares the woods with even know that he exists. Imagine waking up freezing in winters or sweating through summers, suffering from body aches and headaches with not even an aspirin to relieve it, and with whatever alcohol is left in the bottom of some dirty bottle instead of a hot cup of coffee to get you going. Imagine not knowing what day of the week it is and not giving a damn one way or another. And imagine living like this every day of your life when all you have to eat or to wear is what you can steal from another, what you find in a dumpster or what someone shares with you and to never have any more ambition than to just survive another day. I would rather be dead. I met this guy along the banks of the Scioto River and some of his story is shared in my new book, "Are those my Footprints?" scheduled for release this winter. For more information write to me at imjustrick@aol.com