Someday, I hope to be homeless..

I’ll get just enough money to go to New York, and to feed myself for a month. If I had any money left over, I’d leave it in the bank for doctor‘s bills if I were to get sick. I wouldn’t bother finding a place to live, nor would I have a phone number, skype or email. I’d write letters to my mother to assure her I’m alive. I’d make a thousand friends, each only for a minute because I would never be sure if I would be here or there or someplace in a day’s time. Nobody would know my name or care who I am, when I got too desperate I could shower in a nun’s house- nuns have to take you in, right? Maybe.. I’d steal the best guitar I could find- maybe two even- because, well, what have I got to lose if I’m caught?! I would never wear make up, and I’d cut my hair short. I’d learn to conquer my fear of public restrooms and to run fast, away from rapists. At night I’d wear tracksuit pants over my jeans to keep my legs from freezing. I’d befriend a homeless man named Adam with black hair, an under-bite, a black eye and a crooked nose. He would believe in strange things, and pretend I’m the one who’s crazy. We’d sit in a doorway, taking turns to sleep and pray we aren’t stabbed. We’d watch all the people passing by, and try to guess their names. But it wouldn’t be too long until Adam died in the cold, and that’s when I’d remind myself that my lungs would never handle another snowy New York winter.. So I would go home, and I would curse myself for giving up that life, when working in a Dublin restaurant and thinking back on the days when I had no name…

Another unrealistic dream of the day... How I love to daydream, if only someone were reading along as I fantasize.