I have a habit, maybe more of a hobby. I feed animals. I feed the birds that come to my lawn, the cats that show up at my door, the squirrels that hyperactively dart to the bird feeders. Hell, I even put out old bread for the possum that sneaks under my fence. I feed the strays, and I always have. Not everyone thinks this is a good idea, but I always believed there’s no harm. I’m a sucker for creatures.

They’re still cleaning up Times Square. It’s on the news, the screens flashing advertisements for Broadway, clothes, food –chocolates dancing for no one. Not many go there now, just a few curious teenagers, journalists, morbid thrill seekers. Like a dead spot in a city still trying to continue after such a profound loss.

There was a pretty dark time for me, between college and what was to be next. I won’t go into details here, but I was very lost and ended up homeless, squatting in a trailer on the edge of a forgotten dump near my home town. The trailer was just about livable and always smelled of mold and rotting cheese. I only felt safe there because I thought no one else would want it. The trailer always seemed a bit darker than it should be, and a bit out of focus. I only stayed there out of desperation and managed to leave it with my mind basically intact some months later. Many unusual things happened at that trailer, but this is just one of them. I found a small, spiral bound note pad there, with only a few pages left in it. What I share below was written in neat, small letters on the pages. Suffice it to say I don’t know the truth or fiction of it, I just know that it shook me to my core. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the worst thing I found there. I am transcribing it word for word: