I'm too fortunate to not be thankful

The day proceeded as normal. Which means that a lot of weird things were bound to happen. A calm Tuesday. Morning workout. Lunch with brother. Shopping. Class. Coffee.

Pretty leisure like. After all, I could be milking a goat somewhere in the sand.

But the incidences that would make for an ultimately incredible evening could not have been seen as I sat in uncertainty, not knowing how I would get home or if I would truly become a Vagabond for a night.

I was dropped off at Uni, so I had to arrange for a ride to get me back home. The proximity of my favorite cafes to the school is convenient, and I always find myself dawning their doors after class. It's about a 20 minute walk, and there are a lot of nice shops along the way to keep me diverted.

As I walked an old veteran came by. I knew he wasn't for show. He smelled really bad.

A friend of mine had rehearsal on the same side of town, and said he would let me know when he was done to see if I had been able to find a ride.

However, 5 hours and two cafes later I had received no call.

I passed the time at Brasil easily. Writing and listening to music. The other cafe began well, but there is only so much coffee a man can drink, and I began to become concerned. The hours had ticked by and I was sitting amongst a crowd of people in solitude.

It was weird, but when i looked up, it was like there was a sea of empty chairs in between myself and the multitudes.

"What the hell was this!?"

It was almost 12:30 when my friend finally responded to my messages to say that he wasn't going to make it out tonight. At the same time the veteran appeared and mumbled about my phone. I couldn't understand what he was saying, so he continued to trudge along.


Out of respect, it was too late to summon any family member. It was my burden, and as long as I could find a place to crash I would be fine.

Truly Shameless. Very Vagabond.

However, not Vagabond enough as the increasing prospect of sleeping in the streets grew. My dangerous domestication took over my mind, as I began to search for friends who were still up.

I came across "Jefe". A high school, and now college buddy of mine. He was out and about and said I could crash at his place. He's a catholic school teacher and he lives with others as part of his contract. However, I certainly held no opposition to the offer of room and board for an evening.

The cafe had become a prison to me by 1 a.m., and I had to leave. I told "Jefe" to meet me at the Uni, and I began my walk.

It looks a lot different at night, and the reality of homelessness is more prevalent. If I didn't have the "Jefe", I wasn't sure what I would do. The next bus didn't leave until after 4 a.m., while the cafe closed at 2. I knew I had a place to stay tonight, but someone would make their home in these streets.

The veteran was across the way. Still walking. Still mumbling. However, I was on his turf now.

I walked talking to God about my life. Thinking about where I was and what I was doing. The current stress combined with the moment brought tears to my eyes as I walked the backstreets. I thanked God that I wasn't sleeping on the street.

I'm too fortunate to not be thankful.

"Jefe" arrived shortly, and almost immediately I was relaxed. We joked and stopped at a Whataburger on the way to his residence.

I remembered him telling me about his living arrangements, but I had no idea what it was really like. 5 guys. 6 girls. One House. It was like the Real World for Catholic School Teachers.

To make things better another high school buddy lived there, and we stayed up until 4 a.m. talking about our Alma Mater. By the time I went to bed on a mattress in the weight room, the buses were already running again.