On that bitterly cold winter night, I woke up on a hard sidewalk in downtown Kitchener. I guess I had passed out. It’s the closest I had come yet to overdosing, to dying on a lonely street corner.
Somehow, I staggered over to House of Friendship, to the Shelter, the one place I could feel safe. I had been staying there awhile, and trusted the staff, but now I was worried. It was past curfew, and I didn’t know if my bed would still be waiting for me. I didn’t know if I’d have to be turned away because they were full.
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