I haven’t eaten much in a few days.

I sit on the edge of a cracked sidewalk behind a closed grocery store, my back pressed against a rough brick wall. The faint smell of bread and cooked food drifts through the alley from the dumpsters, but everything worth eating is already gone.

My stomach twists so hard I have to lean forward and hold it.

Not long ago, I was the guy people called when their car wouldn’t start. If an engine made a strange noise, I could usually figure it out just by listening. I knew how to fix things—alternators, brakes, belts, radiators. I spent most of my days with grease on my hands and tools in my pockets.

But the steady work disappeared.

The small shop I helped out at shut down, and after that all I could find were odd jobs. Fixing someone’s brakes in a parking lot. Changing oil behind an apartment building. Patching up a radiator for a few dollars.

Some days I made enough for a cheap meal.

Some days I didn’t make anything at all.

And when the money stopped, the small room I had been renting disappeared too.

Now the street is where I sleep.

I rub my hands together trying to warm them. They feel stiff from the cold, the same hands that used to hold wrenches all day long.

A car drives slowly down the street.

For a moment my ears follow the sound automatically. Old habits never leave. I can almost tell what might be wrong with the engine just from how it runs.

But nobody is asking me to fix anything anymore.

My stomach growls loudly in the quiet alley.

Earlier tonight I walked miles hoping to find somewhere to eat. A small church sometimes serves meals, but when I finally got there the lights were already off and the door was locked.

I stood there for a long time anyway… hoping someone might come out.

No one did.

Later I tried asking outside a fast-food place if anyone had food they weren’t going to finish.

People walked right past me like I wasn’t there.

That hurts more than the hunger.

Hunger comes and goes.

But feeling invisible stays with you.

I lean my head back against the wall and stare up at the night sky, barely visible between the buildings. The piece of cardboard beneath me is damp and thin.

Across the street I can see a restaurant window glowing warm and bright. Inside, people sit at tables with plates full of food, laughing and talking.

So close.

Yet it feels like another world.

My eyes start to grow heavy from exhaustion. The walking, the cold, the empty stomach—it all weighs on me.

Before I close my eyes, I whisper quietly into the empty alley.

“Just one meal… that’s all I need tonight.”

But the only answer is the distant sound of traffic and the quiet breathing of a hungry man trying to make it through another night.

Anything you can Donate will Help me out. Thank you