To The Anonymous Commenter

I've received several comments from an anonymous commenter, cool. I don't know if the comments come from the same person or not. It doesn't matter. It shows that "someone" is reading the entries. You can review the comments yourself by clicking on "comments". It always excites me when someone reads the entries because hopefully, they will get a clearer picture of what is going on with homeless people such as myself. I'm also really excited because local cities, Santa Monica and West Hollywood in particular, are purchasing lots and building affordable housing. Real estate prices are also going down, foreclosures are taking place. The bidding on most of these properties that have been foreclosed usually start at one dollar. Amazing. Bottoms up, baby. Since the couch in the alleyway has been propped in an upright position for disposal, I have been sleeping behind two cardboard boxes filled with debris. It gives me cover and a little privacy. It is not a good idea to be seen by the public when your eyes are shut and you are sleeping. I found some carpet on the ground which I use for padding. Today, I'll be participating in another research project. This one is similar to the one I did before, the only difference is this one will be a group study, a focus group of some sorts, consisting of men who have made themselves available. No, they are not actors talking about their experience at the Hugh Hefner mansion at one of his soirees. These are people, such as myself, who have experienced sex with men and can contribute information on the attitudes of the general consensus regarding HIV and sex. Have no fear, there is a vaccine in the works. There are banners posted along side street lamp posts screaming it out, looking for volunteers. When that vaccine is available, I'll be sure to be first in line. It'll be similar to a rock concert, electric energy in the air. I went to a soup kitchen yesterday in Beverly Hills at an Episcopalian church. This particular church focuses more readily on religion, playing guitars and singing Christian music, while about fifty homeless and poor people sit at tables to eat. Everybody wears a sticker on their chest with their name written on it. I don't, I find it degrading. I just literally slurp my food and leave, red-faced. I can't stand listening to Christian music, it makes me bang my head against the wall and create a hole. There's a PATH organization van sitting outside the church, with a person handing out bags of lunch and taking a survey. I always take the lunch bag and give them a fake name. They ask you for the reason you are homeless and coerce you into participating in a six-month program at one of their facilities. I told them I was not interested. Their curfew is nine o'clock. P.M. Too early for a grown man or woman. Perfect for a child or teenager needing strict supervision. Essentially, in my opinion, these are detoxification centers. You are woken up at five o'clock in the morning the next day and are dismissed at six o'clock. Yikes. Charming. Hell, for someone who is sober the majority of the time. I told them bad credit and debt are my primary problems.