Never mind my real name: most folks, they call me "Big Time".  I am 67 years old and have been homeless for over 40 years now.

I served in Vietnam: had two tours there.  From 1969 until 1972, then again from 1973 right up until the war ended, two years later.  It's a miracle I emerged intact, though my mind is still messed up; I have what is now called PTSD: post traumatic stress disorder.

I was married, but the little woman couldn't handle a guy like me, so she up and left me for someone else.  Bitter?  You bet your butt I am bitter!  I could have had a lot of good years with her, but she done found someone new and walked right outta my life.  It wadn't because I was a bad husband: I gave everything I had to make her happy, but she couldn't handle the stress disorder: the nightmares and flashbacks. So she left me high and dry.  That was also when she found out that I was into drugs.

I sometimes still have 'em, but they ain't nearly as intense as they used to be.  They were really bad the other night with all the fireworks going off; I am so glad that the fourth of July is overwith, so I don't have to put up with all the bangin' and shootin' goin' on 'round these parts!

They call me "Big Time" on the streets 'cause I used to deal drugs; that's what got me booted outta my home and onto the streets, where I still make my "home".  The sidewalks or the alleyways are my bed; I eat outta trash bins (hey, a guy's gotta get food somehow), and I make my livin' panhandlin', tryin' to make a quick buck.  It ain't easy, but as I just said, I gotta make money somehow!

Unfortunately, most folk don't cotton to people like me.  To them, we are the scum of the earth.  Well, I don't think too highly of most folks either: they think of only themselves; they don't care about people like US.  They'd rather see us die or get hauled away by the cops, even if we wadn't doin' anything to bother 'em.  Well, I pray they don't end up in our shoes; that could happen, y'know.

I don't do the drugs anymore, but I still have problems.  Besides the PTSD, I have a bum leg that hurts me somethin' fierce; my leg swells up real big and at times it feel like a drum, the skin so tight.  I could go to the free clinic, but it's way on the other side of town and I don't have the money to take a bus.  Ya gotta have money to go places, and that ain't one thing I have much of.  So I just suffer in silence and pray to God to take me away from this life.  There's gotta be something better ...

Well, I gotta go; stomach growlin' again.  'Bout time to feed myself again; hopefully I can find something fairly decent for supper .... take care and God bless; wing some prayers up Heaven's way, pray that something good will happen to me so I can get off the streets .... this ain't no life for ANYBODY, especially a guy like me who served his country!!

~Big Time.  

~End of part one!~