Letter from a homeless man

A year ago I was working on a series of

handwritten letters

called

"Letters from a Broken Heart"

Letter from a homeless man, 2013
for upcoming series Letters From a Broken Heart.

I didn't think the series was as compelling as

my other works and I put all the letters, research,

drawings, and journal in a box.

Today I opened the box.

To Whom It May Concern:

I used to look like those urbane movie stars of the 50's. Dark hair, dark suit, dark shoes, cool smokes. Days full of life, work, and family. I can't say it was one thing that changed it all, but a series of little things that turned into one big, huge, gigantic misunderstanding. Yes, it was a misunderstanding. Like August trash left in front of your door and then you're locked out and have to sleep on it. Then there's a strike and a layoff. and everything dies like a neglected garden.

I don't mean to, ~~I mean,~~ well, I am not sure who is going to read this letter, so I don't want to spill all my business. If I knew exactly what you want to know, well, perhaps, that would allow me to better explain things.

My fingers are cold, I am about to leave the cafe. They have a 90 minute time limit here. They know me and like me. I'm not picky like their other customers. Some days Angie brings me a meal some spoiled rich girl would send back. I would always say that the meal is perfect -- and then it's on the house. Angie's not here today, so I am going to take a walk. You know, city life. I always like city life with a garden, little red tomatoes, eggplants.

By the way, I am not sure why people say I am homeless. I am temporarily without shelter - displaced. I am not going to make a big thing over it, but I just want to set the "wording" straight.

Respectfully,

P.S. You can leave my payments for the letters at the cafe. The address is on the other side of this napkin. If I am not here, leave it with Angie.

P.P.S. Who is reading this letter?

Letters from a Broken Heart Series

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Baltimore Sonnets

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