It was the winter and I somehow got bronchitis and pneumonia at the same time and lost my job. For weeks I was unable to leave my apartment and even getting out of bed was difficult. I used the last of my money to pay the back rent, and then I became officially homeless.
It’s a funny thing about homeless people in my city that you very rarely see anybody who’s under 25 or even 30. The homeless I saw every day were either middle aged or downright elderly. I used to think it was because young people could go home to their parents, or at least didn’t mind going home to their parents. As for me, I was 21 at the time and couldn’t go to my parents’ house because they had moved overseas.
I had no rosy illusions about being homeless, and reality hit me even harder than I had prepared myself for. My few possessions were largely stolen by the second day, including my sketchbook. I could understand stealing a pillow, but what anybody would want with my sketchbook was beyond me.