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The first 200 words of this essay...
I got your letter today. You seem in a really bad way. Everything seems to be wrong. Running away just isn't the right answer!!
What do you think its going to be like out there on the streets? You say you've hardly got any 'dosh', you think you'd survive begging everyday? Think you'd actually get far? You'd be sleeping rough on the streets! You think that's paradise??
It was as I stood in front of the neatly stacked boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese that my feelings of hopelessness and desperation first began to change to bitterness and resentment. I watched the happy shoppers piling their carts high; enjoying abundance which far exceeds any human need.
A minute later I lifted an eight pound package of ground beef off the shelf and stuffed it into my pants. I had never stolen anything before. Poverty had reduced me to thievery. My self-image would never be the same. During that time I viewed society as my nemesis.
The dangers of living rough on the street unconstraint to thievery, which would turn the situation into an addictive and will smash
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