The Archives: Like-Coffee & Hard Boundaries

Author’s Note: Unlike my fictional work, what you are about to read is my true, unvarnished story. This is my real-life journey through homelessness, grace, and finding my footing—shared directly from my heart to yours.

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I’m an early bird anyway... but living on the street will make you an early bird whether you like it or not.

The weather was BEYOND perfect, and I happened to have a leftover Celsius stashed in my bag from yesterday. When my 5:30 AM alarm went off, I sat up, wiped the sleep out of my eyes, and popped it open. It’s a rare day when I get a decent cup of coffee out here—even on the days I actually have the cash! Am I turning into a coffee snob? Never thought I'd see the day. Lord knows I’m grateful for the community programs that serve free coffee to the unhoused, but let’s be real... that stuff is not coffee. Washburn—out of all the places I've been—had THE BEST coffee. That stuff was potent. But this new spot I’m at now? Baby... that stuff is horrible. It’s thin, watery, and looks like coffee, but it isn’t. I call it "Like-Coffee Drink," because honesty is key, and I hate to be the one complaining from this side of the story, but it’s true!

Anyway, back to my morning...

I took a sip of that Celsius. That stuff works like magic when paired with a decent night's sleep and beautiful weather. I packed up my blankets, hid them away, and took advantage of the dark. That’s always the best time to move—before the morning rush hour hits and everyone starts hustling off to work and school.

Once my bedding was stashed, I spotted a nice bench near the park loop where the morning runners go. The moon was still hanging in the sky, and the crisp morning air felt spectacular, so I decided to take full advantage of it. As I strolled under the dark sky, I noticed a few other unhoused folks still asleep on the ground, pulled deep under their blankets. I found my spot, sat down, and started cleaning out and organizing my bag. Why not? I had time to kill, and I felt surprisingly optimistic. You ever have those mornings where you just feel ahead of the game? Ahead of everyone else? That’s where my head was at.

I even grabbed my stashed bag of clothes and did a quick outfit change behind a thick bush. Sure, there were a few early-bird cyclists and joggers out, but I was practically invisible. Dressed and refreshed, I sat back down on my bench, sipping my Celsius and mapping out my tasks for the day.

Not even five minutes later, a fit, dark-skinned guy about my height comes rolling up on a bike. Correction—he rolls right past me, gets about twenty yards down the path, stops, turns around, and says, "Good morning."

I looked up and said, "Good morning."

He actually looked caught off guard that I responded! He paused and said, "Good morning... what's your name?"

Without skipping a beat, I shot back, "My name is: Do you have some money so I can get breakfast?"

He burst out laughing, hopped off his bike, and walked it back toward me with a big smile. I started laughing too once the words fully registered in my own head. We struck up a conversation, and after a few minutes, he tried to dig deeper: "So, what’s your story?"

I looked him in the eye and said, "My story is sacred. I don't reveal it to just anyone."

He threw a plethora of other questions my way—most of which I politely dodged for privacy's sake. I told him to just enjoy meeting a interesting stranger and take the conversation for what it was.

Then he asked, "You wanna take down my number?"

"No," I replied flatly.

He looked genuinely confused. I looked at him and laid it out plain: "I'm focused on getting myself off these streets right now. Nothing else."

He took a breath, looked at me with real respect, and said, "I respect that. I still enjoyed talking to you." He pulled out some cash, placed it right in my hand, and said, "Go get yourself a good breakfast."

I thanked him, and just like that, we went our separate ways.

 Tashia L. McLayea

 Lead Architect | The Sovereignty Society