Donnie Smith's Short Story: The Homeless Man

As Greg blew into his saxophone, the sad song wafted out into the auditorium. He began to remember his past, his parents dying, him becoming homeless and finding a saxophone on the street and learning how to play it without no help, people throwing money in the bucket when Greg’s playing the saxophone. Thanking the man who heard him playing the instrument on the street and made him an artist, and making him the man he is today, the life he never expected. Going through all the incidents he went through his life, the bad times of him sleeping on the streets, no food, begging on the streets playing the saxophone. Greg is 45 today, it is Greg’s last concert and his birthday, he is dressed up in a black suit with a red tie, his bald head shining

In the outskirts of New York, dirt filled slush clings to the white cement on a December evening. Tiny droplets of frozen water blob on the ground and melt, getting crushed by afternoon stragglers. Buildings cluster together for warmth in the biting winter chill. The structures, many tall and slim while some are squat and obtuse, line the streets of blazing horns and shouting pedestrians. The sounds of people stomping their feet before they enter busses, offices, and cars echo off each skyscraper and continue to bounce until it is too faint to be perceived. As rush hour begins to stall, two men dart into the densely populated street not caring to stop for oncoming traffic. One man is tall and thin with gangy limbs too long for his body. His eyes, dark grey flickering nonstop, are calculative, possessive, and intelligent.

Homelessness in America has gone un-noticed for so long. For America to be the “land of opportunity” there is a large amount of people who have been deprived of what they were promised. There is so much this country offers, but at the same time there are so many qualifications. Not everyone can meet these standards that are sometimes required. This results in homelessness and poverty. Homelessness has become a hidden aspect in life. The government wants people to continue seeing America’s beauty. In order for that to be successful they would have to get rid of the flaws.

We currently have over a half a million people, a quarter of which are children, living on the streets. Those are numbers we should all feel ashamed of, god knows I do, which is why I have taken in so many over the years. But, even as your beloved Dictator, I can't take them all in personally, so we're going to have to do this wholesale. Now, before we begin, I want to address a few things about being homeless.

Based on reading the article, “Homeless Man Interviews Himself” by Albert Bliss, I have come to the conclusion that this is overall an example of Closed-Form Writing. I firmly believe that this article conforms to the basis of the closed-form writing style but it dabbles in the open-formed style of writing. There are several examples in the essay that convince me of this.

Ms. Jones knows roger is homeless so she fed him and made him wash his face. She probably feels bad for him. For example Roger says there is nobody home at his house. She is trying to teach him manors and to ask not steal. For example Ms. Jones says that you could have just asked. Also she is trying to earn his trust.

In the story there was a little boy named roger he was a homeless little boy and he was saw a lady named Luella bates Washington jones and she was getting off work and she walked passed roger and he followed her and he tried to snatch her purse and run but she caught him before he could get away. She was trying to be nice and polite to him because he didn’t have no place to go or nothing he had no food and no home but what she did was from the kindness of her heart and she took him in and fed him and cleaned him up. He was scared that she was going to call the police on him but she said she wasn’t going to do that. The reason he tried to take her purse because he wanted a pair of blue swade shoes but from the kindness of her heart she gave

As a kid, I never really paid attention to what blessings were, in fact, it didn't even cross my mind. I grew up in a small house, with my parents and my sister. We loved to walk around a lot and most of the time we would come across homeless people. It was like a routine of ours that we would always give back to the people less fortunate. I remember as I was walking one day with my mom, we came across an old homeless lady and my mom gave her 20 dollars. We were lucky enough to have that much change left after shopping for food and we decided it would be kind to give it to someone else, but this lady was very different from most homeless people. She had bright neon pink nails, gray hair that would create an ombré effect almost as if she got it done, she took the money we gave

With a heavy wooden bucket hanging from each end of a bamboo pole digging into shoulder, I struggle to survive the torturous imprisonment.

Richard interviews for a job working for a white family and the woman asked him bluntly whether or not he stole. Richard says and I quote “ If I were to steal from you, I definitely wouldn’t tell you. The job includes meals but Richard ends up not enjoying his job and the first meal wasn’t edible due to the mold growing on it. Richard talks to the woman about schooling and that he wants to be a writer and the woman doubts him just like everyone else. He immediately quits. Richard gets another job with another family isn’t any better than the last. The family is ungrateful and rude towards him, but he keeps the job because it’s easy to steal their food. Armed with wages and lunch to eat with his friends he can now contribute to social life. I thought that was a smart answer to her stupid question honestly. I wouldn't tell her I stole if I did and she would never think to

Just recently, one of my teachers told our class “There's a story behind every face.” This line made me remember a particular face: the face of the man at the end of the alley. The man at the end of the alley is homeless, or was homeless. He moved away at the end of last year. He was a tall black guy with knotted hair, a beanie and fingerless gloves. Every morning on my way to school while driving past him, my grandfather and I would wave goodbye to the man until he disappeared as we rounded the corner. Everyday we would wave again when I returned home from school and saw him in the exact same spot, as if he never moved. Then he would wave back and, under his huge beard , you could see the biggest smile anyone could ever give. I was surprised

I am in a large crowd in New York City. There are many people in this crowd. Some are in a hurry, and others are simply walking slowly, at a near stop. The people in a hurry are bumping into the slower ones, and mumbling some rude things under their breath. The slower ones seem not to care or notice.

My friends often describe me as a cynic and a pessimist. For the most part, they're right. Sentiment loses value when it permeates one's attitudes and behavior just as the value of a commodity decreases as it becomes ubiquitous, so as a rule I reserve expressing sentiment for rare occasions that I deem worthy. Fortunately, even the harshest cynics are surprised sometimes.

The homeless stand down was an eye-opener experience for me. I had the opportunity to interact with several individuals, and one family. Initially I conducted some interviews with them to help complete the questionnaire; and the remainder of the time, I escorted the individuals and helped them choose items that were necessary for them. As I talked to each of them, I realized that the present state of these individuals were a product of the current economic situations. According to the National Homeless Coalition (2009), work factors are one of the many reasons why individuals are homeless. One of the individuals that I spoke to informed me that he was working a regular nine to five job at a construction site, but now due to the

I hear them get closer and closer as the porch creaks every step to the door. My heart feels like its pounding through my chest, and sweat is pouring off my face as I sprint in a panic. I hear the key turning and the door opening just as I jump out the window.