Call me Drakakis.  Several moons ago, never mind how many, I awoke to find my comfortable suburban life in tatters.  The wife, the two cars, the two kids, the two mammalian pets … all gone along with my toys and my tools and, being self-employed, the means to my livelihood.  I’d like to say that I sucked it up and arose like Phoenix rising.  Alas,  I folded like a cheap card table.

I killed a few blurry years in ragged company, comforted by thoughts of suicide and barrels of bourbon until, finally, I wound up here, a healthy spit from the jagged edges of the jungle.  My suburban upbringing, my middle-class bona fides, my university education and impressive resumé — they mean jack-shit down here.  That Psych degree and a cigarette will get me a loon if I bargain hard.  This time, however, I adapted.  I got sober and settled into street life with a certain gusto.  And here I remain until the spring, at least.  So follow me in this blog as I try to make sense of all the beauty and ugliness in a world few of us know;  the world of the Outer Class.