Project Homeless: The Voice

Radio is defined - theatre of mind"

(T.Williams' Inspiration)

A word about Ted Williams:

I have been greatly moved by Williams' story. Watching his interview on the Today Show certainly had me choked up. The humility of this man - knowing his mistakes and the gratefulness for what he's been given -a second chance -- it is truly is incredible. Ted Williams worked in radio much of his adult life - and described himself as something of a "functional alcoholic." but then, he started doing drugs - and as the substance abuse became worse, so did his life's circumstances. He ended up -- on the streets. He had run-ins with the law for theft and generally, like most homeless: had to learn to survive. 

What he recognized was the fact that he had been given a talent: his golden voice. it was resounding and steady and it occurred to him that, just maybe, he could use it to earn money on the streets. Thankfully - for you and for me, the audience - a reporter in Columbus took a chance on him and found out just how talented he was, that his sign asking for money was no joke at all. 

Now Williams is being offered jobs, he is being asked to do radio commercials and someone even offered to buy him a home. He is holding onto this gift, working through the overwhelming attention with his faith, and hoping for continued great things in his life. What stunned me, however, is that throughout his interview with the Today Show, he consistently kept responding to Meredith Vieira with, "yes ma'am" - a form or respect and honor from where he was sitting. 

I hope his mother was listening and watching. I hope she comes forward to embrace him. I truly think that Mr. Williams has something to teach all of us. Everyone has a gift: and everyone has a voice, who we are not to listen? In William's case - a commanding one. 

"If you really work hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen" 

(C.O'Brien) 

I think Mr. Williams exemplifies what that quote is all about and each moment that we see him, he is showing a vigilance, gratefulness and a kind manner - that wins you over and inspires you. Whether he's advertising for Mac & Cheese, announcing the Caviler's players, or speaking from the heart: this man has a story that is worth telling, and one that is worth hearing. 

Mr. Williams, sir, I pray God's continued blessing - and thank you for sharing that amazing voice.

Project Homeless: Citizen's Groove

It seems that no matter the city I reside in – the very core of it can be overwhelming and certainly San Diego has its groove. From the glitz to the poor – there is activity everywhere and it doesn't seem to stop. People coming and going – looking for an answer to their complicated lives.

Amazing to me are the number of homeless I encounter every day, more so than anywhere I have lived yet. There are entire blocks that are lined with shopping carts – overflowing with possessions, recycling, trash and all covered with blue tarps and blankets. There are people – couples too, spread here or there in the middle of a sidewalk with their sleeping-bags and blankets.

The sight is one that is heartbreaking to see - “God bless” and a cheerful “Merry Christmas” do not 

ever seem to be enough. Nevertheless, - if all one can do is offer a kind word, I can only imagine they are grateful to be recognized.

Their livelihood is desperate during this season. It's cold and wet (in most of the world) and their hiding place is harder to find. But if you're one that rarely has a quarter or dime in your pocket – remember that a nod and a hello can go a long way. They, too, are our neighbors and they too understand the season's urgency - and the longing for it's peace.

project homeless: chapter 1, the bridge

i had never been here before and i wasn't really sure i knew what i was doing. but i stepped through the hole in the fence, with richie following and headed toward the bridge. there were three men hanging over the wall, talking and looking out over the city. a fourth one approached. we introduced ourselves and i offered them our water-cliff bar & orange supplies. all of the men took several things from the bag and told me it would be ok to walk about and take pictures, which of course, they knew i was there for. it's not like my camera was hiding --hanging on my neck. 

three of them walked away as i started to inspect the area of a few good shots. lamar, stayed however, and we engaged in a fairly light-hearted conversation with him. he said he'd been on  the street for about a year. he never said why. he typically "hustled" during the day where-ever he could, but he also was consistent about finding plastic and trash to take to the local recycling center. he pointed out, on the train tracks where he was able to collect materials. 

his toothless grin was charming and richie entertained him while i walked off for a few minutes to examine their living quarters. there was no way to explain it except to say: trash was everywhere. the fine art of it all was the sleeping bags strewn across the bridge or perhaps a shirt or pants hanging over a box or a fence. moreover - there were "caves" built with old mattresses, boards, tarps, and blankets where each other them slept. they basically looked like the fort you made in your back-yard as a kid....but with more dirt and trash. these men were survivors. and these men were making the best of their current circumstances. 

one of the appeals, lamar told us, of this rustic place, was the view. the city shone on every side of them. and when the lights went out at night, it was rather spectacular. he even commented on how fascinating the fireworks were on the fourth of july. certainly this "house" had enough comfort to offer men who had no other place to rest. for the most part, he noted, the train was the only heavy noise that kept them awake, but i assume they also get used to it. 

the time spent, was well served, and well learned. what i captured, i cannot forget. and there will be more to think on as i keep working through the photos....more to come.....

Project Homeless: Panhandling Poet

"What kind of stores are you looking for?" he asked me.
"Eh, I'm just browsing today, thanks though."
"Well if you were to give me four words, and were to hear the most beautiful poetry you've ever heard, do you think you could spare some change?"
"I don't have any change," I spouted, "but I could get you a sandwich if you're hungry."
"Yeah! Sure, Ok, so what four words do you have?"
"mmm, beautiful, untamed, place, people" I rattled them off the top of my head, and didn't put much thought into it.

But Craig proceeded to recite, indeed, fascinating poetry, more or less: spoken word with all of the noise and music around us. It was 5pm in the afternoon and Little 5 Points on a Friday was hopping. I stood and listened intently, not thinking to record the lovely poem he created just for me. After a couple of minutes: I should his hand and told him he'd earned his meal and headed for the cafe around the corner. A sandwich and a picture later, he was on his way to the next stop, where-ever that might be.

project homeless: jerry, a true blues man.

it seemed to be a rather uneventful day. but when i went to meet up with richie today, i found him sitting with a street friend we see often, the blues man. i joined them and jerry told us that he was trying to make it to the veteran's bunker some miles away. we bought him a wings plate and when he finished he pulled out his guitar and serenaded. from "my girl" to "stand by me" to "because he lives" to a number of old blues, he sang from the heart  and skillfully crawled the 5-string guitar. he didn't seem to mind that i had pulled out my camera phone. he even earned a buck from a random guy walking by the table. we sent him on his way with a little support. he had said that he had been sleeping on the steps of a church and somehow, still everyday he makes his way around the city, walking, taking a bus, riding a borrowed bike. i am amazed that with a benign tumor on his shoulder and arthritic concerns (off and on), he's able to trek and play continuously. there is something to be said for his determination to keep going every day. i wonder if could submit some of my footage to playing for change....it's a thought.

project homeless: chapter 1- where they live...

recently, i went out on a photo-shoot near a local college. the first stop was underneath a bridge. as we were shooting on a set of stairs next to the bridge, we noticed that  on the other side, there was an abandoned chair. we decided that it might be interesting to get a few shots, but when we climbed up to where the chair sat, we found that it was accompanied by a sign, a bible and a few darts. further under the bridge against the cement ceiling were sleeping bags, luggage and left-over garbage. sadly, i figured that, at least two people lived there- homeless people who had probably left for the day to panhandle. their items were relatively concealed and it was probably an excellent place to keep out of the spring rain we've been getting. it got me thinking, though...the homeless don't always make it into the shelters on a nightly basis and they have to set up some where, how many more "homes" like these were there? where do they all go in the city of atlanta? more to come soon....

Project Homeless: Worn

The other day, while walking toward Abba Dabbas (a shoe store in Little 5 Points, Atlanta); I met Linda. She was sitting several feet away from the Vortex restaurant panhandling. Most people simply ignored her and walked on by. But she looked sad and worn out, so I stopped and asked her if she was alright.

With her wispy white hair and her hand on her on a wrinkled forehead, she sighed and told me she came to the area, typically, 6 days a week. She took a bus from the west end and tried to earn a little extra cash on the streets. Linda stated that she did receive a check from the government, but after paying for a room and a bus ticket, it really left her w/ very little, if nothing for food or other survival supplies. She told me that due to a number of physical ailments, including her feet, her brain and bouts of illness, she could no longer work. Linda didn't want to stay in Little 5 too long, she admitted she didn't feel safe and would be on her way to the bus stop soon. Her boyfriend apparently had lost his job- and she claimed due to racial discrepancies against him (apparently he was a black man). She hoped that a man she had met earlier in the day would be able to help her boyfriend find a job. And she was very sad that she had not raised enough money to give him the kind of birthday she'd hoped. Nevertheless; she told me, she was trying to remember that she was blessed and that she was grateful I'd stopped to chat with her.

I tried to encourage her-I told Linda that He sees her struggles and to keep her head up. I offered her a sandwich (it's all I had on me), for which she gladly accepted.

I did not get her picture that day. Perhaps I forgot. Perhaps, on that particular day, I just didn't feel the desire to ask. But I won't forget her, that's for sure. I pray she won't feel so restless and that she'll find some peace of mind.

Documenting the World, Wk 30 & 31

Wk 30: Hope & Expectation

the beauty of this unity

is one & the same.

gracious and believing,

they seek no fame-

hope is their expectation,

His love

their perfection.

trials in place

is what-not fear-

but together they learn

to grow and face

this sight

so delicate

so beautiful & clear

Wk 31: Waiting for a Friend

Last Thursday, I saw my ol' homeless friend, Digger. He was sitting across the street from the Vortex in Little 5 Points, waiting for passers-by. I stopped and said hello and asked if he wanted something to eat. He said, yes, of course, so off I went with my friend to find a place with decent grub. I think he was hoping for a burger and fries, but I couldn't locate the place he was talking about w/in walking distance, so we went into a sandwich cafe shop and I bought him a sub, with chips, dessert and a water. It was simple and a bit healthier, he was ok w/ that. Ironically someone ahead of us had given him a slice of pizza, so he was set for a little while, I suppose. When I squatted on the ground, Digger asked where'd I'd been, that it'd been too long since he'd seen me last and told me not to make it so long next time...I think it had been since winter, I felt bad. He told me he wanted to make sure he saw me again before he died. I thought it was sweet. He quickly moved on and told me that his eyes still weren't doing so well, but he was surviving anyway. I was glad to see him and I hope he's doing alright today.

Project Homeless: Gloria Says...

I have seen Gloria a few times, but on that particular day, she was atimate about getting my attention.

As I was passed by on the street, she waved me down and asked me to take her picture. I stopped and snapped a couple of shots while she gave me an exuberant smile, proud that someone would want to photograph her. When I finished she took my hand and asked my name. I noticed immediately that her eyes were heavily dialated and I had suspected for sometime that she might be mentally handicapped, but course who can be sure?

She held onto my hand tight and told me I was just like her neice, with the same name as daughter of her sister, she said. Gloria soon went off track and kept talking about a number of other people she knew, I couldn't always make it out, as she would trail off and mumble. But if I tried to say good-bye or walk away, she became very frustrated and spoke louder. It wasn't until another girl came by that we were able to tag team and say good-bye to Gloria. 

Certainly it was a difficult visit. And I would be lying if I told you that there are homeless men and women who weren't socially awkward, don't do drugs, or don't have handicaps. In many cases, that may be the very reason they are homeless. I can imagine that Gloria has had a hard life. I imagine that her memories are jumbled and perhaps her mind doesn't always follow what others are saying. I also imagine that Gloria does what she can to cope with the streets, right or wrong. She collects things and always has them with her, in boxes and ags. Her broom is never far from her reach and I've seen her with and without blankets. 

It's hard to know how to help someone like Gloria, mostly because it is difficult to even communicate effectively with her. For now, I will pray for her. I encourage you to offer your prayers this Christmas season as well as any time and energy you may have to give to the homeless people. 

Terrible Solutions

I consider it an outrage that the city of Atlanta (among other cities) think that they can solve panhandling and homeless difficulties by simply putting a meter up for people to donate their "charity change." It's disgraceful. An article by the NPR discusses Atlanta's solution and never once refers to the "panhandlers" as people on the streets or the homeless community.

It is obvious to me that the Mayor of Atlanta, Shirley Franklin, doesn't understand that she's missing the human element of homelessness. Granted there are men and women on the streets who may be con artists or may get in your face. But my experience is that, on average, they just need a friend, a moment of time. They, like any other insecure human being, need to be treated like a person.

The homeless community needs resources to help them take the next step, get a job, contact family and so on. Hoping that they'll just "go away," is not a solution. They will only populate another city and do the same thing. Why? Because it is all they know. They are survivors.

People need hope. Homeless people need to know, more than anyone, that they are not just scenery. They are not trash. They are not bothersome objects that cross the street. And they won't really go away.

As a citizen of the city, as a human being: if you encounter a homeless person on the street- tell them hello, "look them in the eye and be nice." If you don't want to give out cash, offer them a sandwich, a coffee or maybe just your time. Ask if their day is going well or where they are from.

Telling them that they are only worth your "meter change," is sad. You've belittled their existence. The fact is- Atlanta does not want to help solve poverty. They want it to disappear. They think that by ignoring people on the street or threatening to arrest homeless and warning compassionate citizens, the problem will be solved. It will not.

Problems can only be solved using creative thinking. It would be more beneficial for individuals and governments to do research, find out the true needs of the homeless and create initiative programs for assistance.

The poor are despised everyday. The poor need a voice. Are you listening?

Project Homeless: A Job and a Bench

His name was Eric. He moved to Atlanta to take care of his mother years ago. When she passed away he had to sell the house just to make sure all of her medical bills were paid. He now sleeps on a bench outside. But you wouldn't have known that just looking at him.

My boyfriend and I had gone to Little 5 Points for the afternoon. It was such a perfectly beautiful day outside. When we decided to rest, Eric walked up to us and told said he wanted to show us a picture. He must have noticed that I'd had my camera with me b/c he told me it would make a great photograph. He claimed that the picture had been painted by an elementary school kid in 1996 and that it was a picture of a plane between two towers w/ peace signs all over it. He thought it was ironic that the picture was drawn five years prior to 9/11.

While I don't know much about the superstition, it was interesting enough.

We found out that even though Eric had no place to sleep; he was able to lock down odd jobs around the area and that it was important to him to look presentable. Eric told us that he spent his earnings on making sure he ate and looked nice. He just didn't have enough money to afford a motel each night, didn't even know where one might be and certainly didn't have enough to afford an apartment.

Eric told us that homeless people just need to be given a chance. They need opportunity to be trusted, given jobs. When we asked about how hard it is get things like an i.d. card or a permenant address, he told us those were definitely some of the most difficult challanges. It's a catch-22, he state...you need money to make money in order to survive. He hates that the cycle is always continuous.

When we walked away he let us know he appreciated the conversation and our decency. I hope and pray that Eric will be given enough opportunity to afford an apartment one day soon.

From the Perspective of a Bum

Something is seriously wrong when we as a society, as a people have no interest in taking care of our neighbor. There is a balance of personal responsibility that certainly must be acknowledged. However, whether it be a friend, a colleague, or acquaintance in a distressing situation or the homeless guy on the street, where are our manners, where is the golden rule? I see it less in a society where I should see it more.

Mike Yankoski, and his friend Sam, traveled the country for six months on the streets. They had enough of just hearing and believing they should care for the poor, they need to experience it, they needed to practice it.

What they found were people who were hopeless. They also found people who were bitter toward the world and others who were trying to keep their above ground. Some of their fellow homeless friends were drug addicts, perhaps had made bad decisions that led them their state or just some who'd run out of luck. And like any other despised street monger; Mike and Sam slept on cement, panhandled with guitars and ate from the garbage.

They found that people, of all kinds, -even people who claimed to have faith- snubbed them, avoided eye contact and turned them away. Nevertheless they persisted in their journey and more often than not; their positive attitude and trust in God spoke peace and comfort to their friends on the street. They roamed through Denver, D.C., Portland, San Francisco, Phoenix, and San Diego- which of course led them back home.

I was uniquely impressed with their growth as young men and how their perspectives on the world changed when the chose to live with nothing. They were still able to stay honest and true to the core of who they are and yet find out what that poor are really like and become one of them, that they might minister TO them.

Under the Overpass was an amazing story. I recommend it to anyone, particularly if you've ever wondered what the people on the street really see. I hope you will find out more for yourself.

I think the book is a lesson in humanity. It is a lesson in loving our neighbor, doing good to those who hurt us. It shows what a community should look like when they care for one another, esp in the most difficult circumstances. Mike and Sam inspired me. And they confirmed what I believe- that giving to the poor is one of the greatest gifts and certainly one of the most humbling experiences in the world today.

Project Homeless- He Gave me a Smile

"Do ya like coffee?" I asked him.

He smiled, "You bet I do!"

I handed him the ten dollar Starbucks card I had in my pocket and told him he could at least get two or so visits out of it. He thanked me and told me he'd put it to use. His tall figure was slumped. He wore a Creative Loafing t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants that were tied together at the bottom. He seemed sad, but his expression showed me that he was really trying to catch the good in each and every day.

Sitting on the ground next to Bones, I asked him how he ended up on the streets. He told me that it came down to keeping his job or his apartment...and in one day; he lost both. That was in 1996.

Bones looked younger than most I had seen. If he'd had a shave and a hair cut...I'd say he was in his early thirties...I couldn't have really known.

Bones admitted that he didn't know what he wanted society to know about him. But he did say that he wished it were easier to get an i.d. card. One of the most difficult parts of this life was not being able to get a job or qualify for government benefits due to the simple fact that he does not have an address. If he had an address and/or an i.d. card, things would be simpler.

I told my new friend that I would tell people that he's "here" and that if they should see him walking by, a friendly hello and a conversation would mean the world. He thought that might just help.

Bones- you're in my thoughts and prayers....

...And He Sang to Me

"My name is Royal, you know, like a royal pain in the ass!" He winked and lit a cigarette. He was charming and I couldn't help but return his firm hand-shake.

He sang for his supper; so I fished my pockets for coins to toss in the can. I figured him to be in his 40's. He wore a faded t-shirt, his baseball cap backwards, jeans with holes and carried a mustache over his grin. What was not to like? He played the oldies on his guitar and his rough vocals made for great sidewalk entertainment. I asked him to play me another and he whipped out "Brown-Eyed Girl," just for me. In fact; he played "Brown-Eyed Girl" every time I walked by.

He loved playing on the streets. The view of beautiful Colorado Springs had a lot to offer. And a local cigarette shop let him use their window as a backdrop.

It wasn't an easy life, Royal admitted, but he was playing music and that's all that really mattered to him.

He went to the soup kitchen every day for a meal and just barely afforded a room at a small apartment near-by, that is, if he could make $12 a day. On a rare occasion he'd land a gig or two a local bar. It was the life he lived and he was ok with that.

Royal spent his early years in the military and had even spent time in a Community Corrections Facility. His on again, off again girlfriend, Kathleen, was a left-over hippie and played music on the street as well, usually just a few blocks away. They depended on each other and certainly did the best they could to survive.

Most days, his mood was cheery and welcoming. He enjoyed playing for the children that stopped to gawk. But often there was loneliness behind his eyes. It was sense of distance or perhaps misdirection. I asked him about it.

He told me that he had two daughters (ah...children of his own). They were grown, he said, he'd even raised them for several years of their life. They were both involved in music production of some kind. But yet; they never did look kindly on the lifestyle he chose. They rarely paid him mind. And he never saw them. Yet he could not justify leaving what he loved.

To most, Royal was exactly what they saw: a guy down on his luck hoping to get a little sympathy change. To me; he was the epitome of survival. He did what he enjoyed the most and he was willing to work hard for it, even if it meant being satisfied with little. He believed in people, even if they didn't believe in him.

I saw Royal just about every other day for a little over year. We were friends. Sometimes I brought him lunch and more often - we just sat and talked. I was his break either way. I played and sang with him a few times, helped him make a buck or two. I often wish I had pictures of him, but I don't.

I wonder where he is today, if he still plays in front of the cigarette shop or if his music still touches other people. I wonder if his daughters ever came to see him, just like he had hoped. I wonder if he ever made it "big," just like he dreamed.....

Project Homeless: Spare Change- an Older Story

Twenty Five years old. I could hardly bear it. There I was, walking downtown on a warm October's night and I saw her. She and several others were sitting in front of a jewelry store- smoking, drinking and asking everyone who walked by for spare change. Their appearances were rugged, as are most homeless, and their faces were sadly…content. The young woman who caught my eye, behind her rough and worn appearance, was beautiful. Her long, wavy brown hair was matted and her face was tatty, but her deep chocolate eyes were crying for help. I didn't have any pocket change that night, so instead I decided to sit on the ground with her and chat. Some of the others had been on the streets for years, another had recently released from jail and the young woman I took particular interest, had recently been evicted from her apartment.

As the various conversations broke throughout the group; I turned to Maria and asked her about her story. With tear-filled eyes and her chin quivering, she pulled out three wrinkled pictures. Each one was one of her children, she explained. The oldest was only four-years-old. About a year prior; her children were taken to a foster home. She admitted it was her own fault. She admitted it was because her addiction to drugs and alcohol.

Five years even before, Maria had married an older man who she often caught in one affair or another. She often walked in on him at the wrong time. She mentioned that once after and argument, in San Diego, California; he forced her and their three children out onto the streets and left them to survive for six weeks. He had been in and out of their lives as his leisure for the past five years. Sad for her oldest son, River, Maria told me that each time her husband left; River would cry over the fact that "daddy" had left again. The young boy could never understand. I was so heartbroken…

After her husband left the last time, several months prior to my meeting Maria, he was put into jail; on what accounts, she never said. What she did say was that her most recent news of him was his getting a 17 year-old-girl pregnant before going to jail.

Could this story get any worse? I thought. Unfortunately, it did.

Maria had a boyfriend, fresh out of a Community Corrections Facility. She had been so insecure in her marriage, she said, that she thought it best to fill the emptiness with another man, who never gave her that. Drunk and foolish, he beat her everyday and ended up back where he started: in prison for attempted murder, second degree.

I heard it in her voice. It was a desperate plea. She said she wanted to change. Maria had been in and out of Rehab programs for the past few years, but every single time, she retreated to drinking, heroine and morphine. She always justified her addictions; for Maria, they released her internal pain of losing her children to another family. She realized that her children probably wonder, often, if their parents even love them. She shared with me that the court allowed her to talk with the foster parents on a daily basis. She did and loved the foster mother. They encouraged her and were more than willing to help if and when they could. Maria knew her children prayed for her every night and she stated that she did not want to give up, but she admitted she just did not know how to keep going, especially now, since she was on the streets.....again....

I walked away that night, speechless and in tears. I did not know what to say. I didn’t know what to think. All I could do was pray through my sobs. I saw their pictures. I saw their beautiful faces and I saw the look of loneliness in their eyes. They may have been young. They may not have understood, but they saw it all... I did not see her again and may never see her again.

But if I could offer anything, I’m sure I would say, "I'm praying for you, Maria, please make it this time around. Your kids need you."

She was twenty-five years old. Oh Jesus....
-------------
*This is a true story that happened me 21 October 2003. I have come to find that often the homeless are looking for our time, not just our money. They all have stories, just like we do...who are we not to listen?
**I am considering submitting this for further publishing.

Project Homeless: Catching the Bug

I recently began sharing with you, my readers, the stories of the people I meet on the street. I have been calling it "Project Homeless," (My blog) but the truth is- this is not a new project, rather, it is simply the first time, in several years, I have had such an avenue to share the stories with you.

And ever so quickly- the idea has caught on.

Recently I met a new friend, Sarah Balter, who was interested in journalism and was curious about my experience. Through the course of several tangent discussions I began talking to her about my experience and my heart for the homeless people in America.

She got so excited, she went out, on her own, and spoke with people panhandling the streets. Sarah is now part of "Project Homeless." (Sarah's blog) I consider it a collaborative effort- and I hope that you, too, will be inspired.

Project Homeless: Surviving Buddies

For Don and his veteran friend; survival is a way of life. I first met the two men yesterday outside of a pizza parlor and a small coffee shop. Don walked around and played the harmonica for anyone who would listen, hoping to earn a little pocket change while his friend sat on top of a bucket selling random items with a sign that said: "I'm a veteran. Please help."

Don was all smiles and happy to play any tune you requested. He bounced his knee while he played and said he was just trying to survive the day. I did not catch the name of the other gentleman; his voice was low and scratched, but I did pick up that he's been in Georgia most of his life and that his father died when he was younger.

The two men see each other every day and were certainly empathetic to the other's needs. So after a few songs, and a good laugh: the boys had earned themselves a Coke! They were so happy to have something cold to drink- that Don play another tune on his harmonica and his friend saw my camera and asked if I was going to take their picture. I certainly hope, that on this day that we celebrate freedom, a day of joy, that someone else will be privileged enough to recieve their smiles.

Project Homeless: Hope for Tomorrow

His name was AL. He is from New York City, the Broncs, he said to me. He traveled to Atlanta, Georgia seven years ago and currently sleeps under the highway bridge. He never said what brought him to Atlanta, but he hopes to find a job where he can save money.

The money he saves he hopes to use toward a small home where he can help other homeless get back on their feet and provide a safe sleeping facility with quality food.

If there was one thing that the city of Atlanta could do for him now? Provide more facilities to sleep in more often.

His name is AL and this is his story.