Being homeless, it's hard. I was unfortunate enough to have never had a home. Well, I did, but I could hardly remember. I just remember a man, looking over me while I was in a cradle. Then a woman screaming. Though, not in a " I'm being murdered" kinda' way, but rather, in an arguing kinda' way. I was very small. Was that my Mam and Dad? I didn't know.

I was raised on the street. By a man named Tom. He had a son called Shane. When I was younger I thought he was my father, but when I was old enough he told me that I wasn't and that I had just been found in a cradle. He named me Charlie.

Shane was my best friend growing up. We done everything together, which was mostly begging. Sometimes, people would just think we were faking to get a bit of cash. I mean, it's hard to tell who is faking homelessness now a days. We had kind of a routine. Me and Shane would go around the city. Begging, obviously. Tom would go off doing... I don't know really. We would come back to the alley in which we would sleep with whatever money we earned. On a good day, we could afford everyone to eat, with money left over. On a bad one... We would steal. I hated doing it. We would always try not to do it to a shop more then once. But when you're in the same place for over 5 years, you lose options.

Shane didn't want to steal, but he liked it. It gave him a rush of excitement every time he did it. Shane was a nice kid. But, he turned rebellious. One day, we walked back to where we would sleep. Tom wasn't there yet. No big deal. This happened all the time. We went to sleep. The next morning, he wasn't there. We didn't see him again.