![]() ![]() My eyes are fixed on one of the piers lining the lakeshore, its waters glittering through the haze of morning smog. My bad leg dangles over the edge while I lean casually on my good one. This morning I’m perched on the balcony of a three-story, torn-up apartment complex that has all its windows boarded up. ![]() I live on the streets of Lake sector, a slum sitting along the shore of Los Angeles’s giant lake, and every day I manage to do just enough to survive.īut things could always be worse, yeah? At least I’m alive at least my mom and brothers are alive. I have an injured knee that might never heal. And sometimes you’re even happy, because at least you’ve got your family and your health and your arms and legs and a roof over your head.īut now I’m without most of those things. When you’ve been poor all your life, you never really think it could be any other way. ![]() My name used to be Daniel Altan Wing, younger brother to John, older brother to Eden, son to a mom and dad who lived in Los Angeles’s slum sectors. ![]()
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