The street is not a mattress. The street is a war zone on flat rocks with no rules of engagement. Nobody asks questions or pretends to care whether you survive or not. If you fall on the road, fine, life continues without any silent moment.
I cannot remember when I joined the street community. Maybe it was last year. Maybe it was the year before last year. But one thing I know is that I found the kin, the togetherness, and acceptance that my home-life refused me. I found comfort among these different faces. It is funny, right? Nobody cares, yet we are kin. This is the fun and diversity of the street. We know ourselves, even though we are not always together.
