It is the first sunrise of a new year. The morning is unusually warm here in New York but the sky is pretty and the hour is quiet. I write this to you in a deep stage of thought. But more, I offer this with an honest version of myself. To be truly introspective, my goal is to be as honest as possible.
To begin with, I view this day as a moment of reflection. I view this as a memory of something which took place in my childhood – but ah, childhood does not last forever. Neither will our parents and neither will our yearly rituals.

There is a story from my past which I am not too sure how the details go. However, for this entry I will do my best to be as true to the story as I can be.
The story takes place in a typical suburban neighborhood on Long Island where a young man looked to gain his reputation as an all-out gangster.
For this entry, I think we are going to call him Kenny. Just to be clear, this was not his name and to be even more clear, names, places and tiny details of this story will be altered to protect the less-than innocent. 

I suppose I wasn’t sure what to expect. This is the thought that came to me when it was early and my schedule had changed. My Sunday morning routine was altered by one special cause.
Rather than wake up and journal before heading over to the homeless shelter, I had to make an hour-long stop at a new place to begin a new program.

I took this on as a challenge. I also took this on because I knew the attendees would be harder and tougher to speak with and I also knew that whether I spoke with 100 people or 1,000, the only goal I had was to at least reach one person.
My aim was to make people think and question their choices as well as their assumptions, Meanwhile, the people who would be in attendance would be as hard as the bars that kept them inside of their pod-style living. 

In the case of me vs the world or, better yet, as it is in the case of most kids when faced with a letter that came home from school, or in answer to the question I will be answering throughout this journal; oftentimes, there was an obvious answer to the question of “What the hell were you thinking?”
I am going to explain more ways to diagram our thoughts, feelings and emotions. But first, this begins with the need to understand them.
I understand that parts of my story are either harsh or raw. My apologies if this is uneasy for you.
My intention is not to be harsh or intense; instead, I use my stories as a graphic narrative to accentuate the details of emotion and understanding. For the faint of heart, sorry but you either bought the wrong book or you backed the wrong pony. As for the critics . . .