Part of My Past: Why I Appreciate What I Have

My $10 phone goes off. The alarm, it's 22:00, bedtime. Sitting in the driver seat, I do the usual preparation: Recline the passenger seat, lay the blankets out, then plug my phone into the charger. Now for the worst part. I turn the key twice to crack the windows. Instantly, the snow makes it's way in. Yes, it sucks, but I'll be shivering either way and this way I don't have to wake to white walls of my breath frozen to the windows.

I crawl into the backseat, getting as comfortable as I can. Once under my comforter, my stomach growls on cue. It growls less and less each week, as if it's beginning to realize that 50¢ bread from the Mexican bakery is all I can afford and growling is no more than an unwanted reminder.

I keep still. The finest thing to occur in my sleep is to find that perfect angle to stop the streetlights from sprawling across my face. I take that back. If the car was driven recently enough that the defroster cleared the rear windows, that's the finest. The view, it gives me hope of a better day like Gatsby to his green lantern. Luckily tonight was sparing, a whole grand view. I dream of making it out okay: Live to be 18, get a job, find real shelter..

06:00 and a cop knocks on my window. Time for the bundle of lies, again.