Cardboard is poor insulation

But I guess this is a self apparent truth.

Being poor sucks, as always, but tonight, huddled in the alley behind Walgreen's on 14th and O, this phrase took on a new dimension.

It wasn't bad when I first laid in the cardboard, the other hobo's stoned and yelling. This I could tolerate. One of them, the Leader Tommy, said 'It's gonna get bad," this turned out to be a prophesy. In the time it took me to stamp out a cigarette, wind rushed down the alley, kicking up boxes, knocking over buckets and making garbage dance. This chaos was united by the ice crystals I could see blowing down the alley.

They drifted off, one, then another. Leaving me and my sleep deprived mind to deconstruct the situation.

First complaint: my knee and hip bones only had a few pieces of cardboard protecting them from concrete. No matter how many mild adjustments I made I still strained to keep them from bruising.

Second complaint: When heat is more valuable than gold, moving becomes impossible. To move means to allow precious heat to escape. There were a few times where I got myself up to a decent temperature, only to remember complaint one, adjust, and restart.

Third complaint: Hobos don't shut up. Even in their sleep they talk. This irritated me. The highlight of this complaint came when Leader Tommy, in a vodka slumber, yelled out "NO BITCH!" This was followed by complaint four:

Complaint four: Gourmet Grill and Steel Reserve cause gas.

Woefully under prepared I threw in the towel at four thirty in the morning. I will attempt to return to the Urban Pioneering. This time with blankets, better shoes, and more pants.