Homeless Man Essay

A young man, no older than fifteen, living in a quiet suburban neighborhood has just been broken heartbreaking news: his father has died. Coupled with grief and the new found stress and pressures of losing the sole economic provider for his small family unit, his mother takes on the economic burdens of the family. Not but two years later, tragedy struck this already broken household, the mother has been diagnosed with AIDS; she passes within the year. With no family left to turn to and with depression

was a man who owned a large house with a lush vegetable garden in the front yard. During the night, a homeless man snuck onto his property and began to pick carrots to eat out of the garden. The homeless man, hunger fulfilled, decided to live in the owner's garden shed and hide in fear of being caught by the owner. In the morning, the owner checked his crop and noticed the missing carrots, but disregarded it, at first, though it was his only source of produce. Over time passed, the homeless man would

lose.” Los Angeles, California On a typical bus stop, on a typical city street, there is a not so typical man.This man, somewhere in his mid-thirties possible could be younger, but time has not been good to him. He lies asleep on a typical bus stop bench; wearing a ripped overcoat and a pair of badly torn pants. His hair uncombed and begs to express itself in every direction known to man. Small annoying holes riddle the extremely worn soles of his shoes. A developing beard shadows his face as he rests;

alley, so he went to investigate. When he reached the alley he saw an old homeless man being robbed by a bunch of thugs. Jimmy stepped into action. He yelled “Stop, be... before I call the police!”. One thug rushed Jimmy and punched him in the stomach and then the rest of the thugs jumped in on the beating. When they were done they spit on Jimmy and then left telling him, “ mind your own business kid.”. The old homeless man came up to Jimmy and helped him up, “Thanks kid, but I was fine, I had them

One sunny day on the busy streets of Chicago, a homeless man walked down the sidewalks scowling at nearby street peddlers. He went by the name of Richard Walker, better known as Rich, which was very ironic. He walked down the sidewalks through different people, catching sections of their conversation. “Look at Rich! Don’t give that old homeless man any money!” Although Rich was well used to it, didn’t mean he took it lightly at all. He worked at a nearby junkyard. It was an absolute horrid place

“That… that patch where you got that patch?” James looked at him and said,” what difference is it of yours?” John mumbled to himself, “Devil Dogs, the freaking Devil Dogs… I don’t believe it!!!” The homeless man looked at him, and yelled, “What do you know of the Devil Dogs?” The homeless man began to pace back and forth, as if something was bothering him badly. John turned around fighting back tears that was beginning to welt up in his eyes, his personality had been drained from him; and said

street was a man wearing a tattered jacket, look liked he had not eaten in days. Just walking in the rain looking for a morsel of food in trash cans. The poor man was drenched to the bone, looking to get out of the rain he walked into a gas station. “Can I stand here.” he asked the cashier. The cashier looked the newcomer up and down like he was inspecting a new car. Then he spoke “We don’t oblige your kind here.” “Get out before you’re stench scares more regulars away.” “Ok.” the man said as he walked

arm with as I navigate the LA streets. I envy the young man wiping out on his skateboard. Look at the concern on the young woman’s eyes. She looks on with a frown. Still, he makes her laugh with his imitation of the Zombie’s walk. How much happiness is contained in the rivulets of his blood that hardens along the shin of his wounded kneecap? What thoughts have I tonight, walking the LA streets that are east of LAX. There is the homeless man with his Macy’s shopping bag. He looks at me as if he’s

The warm sun feels nice as the heat beats off my skin as I stroll down the sidewalk. I just keep walking thinking of what choices in life have led me to this point I’m at now. My father was a military man and growing up we switched schools every 3 months as he was stationed all over the country. It becomes rough on a kid never having any true friends because of the constant change, but I soon got used to it. I feel not having any childhood friends led

Running down the street, the man held back a sob. He wasn’t prone to crying, but today was an exception. The man’s name was Max. Running, running, running away was all the 12 year old could think of. After witnessing his brother's death, he couldn’t bare staying any longer at the funeral. I wonder where I’ll go, he thought. He pondered the thought of going to a big city but he was only 12. Maybe a not so big city, like Hanahan. Yes that’s where I’ll go. Hanahan was a small city about half an hour