It takes six months. You survive those first six months then you'll survive. It takes six months to find the public restrooms open on a Sunday, to find cheapest supermarket, to find who's friendly and who isn't. It takes six months to learn to be homeless, and to get use to it.
Most restrooms open at seven in the morning, they don't get busy until nine, when the shops open. That's two hours to wash, both yourself and any clothes. In the winter that's two hours standing under the handdriers luxuriating in the warm air blown from them.
Spencer was lucky, his six months was winter to summer. People are more generous in the summer, they are in less of a hurry, and in a better mood, what with all the lovely sunshine. Spencer learnt not to rely on the kindness of strangers or that he could sleep under the stars. He learnt the worse part of the year first.
The hardest lesson is learning to go days without eating. And not buying water, to buy drinks with lots of sugar in them, fizzy drinks are the best, they're cheap, will hydrate you and will act as a food substitute longer than water. But the library is a godsend. It is warm, you can sit there, and you can keep yourself entertained. The staff may give you funny looks but it is safe there.
When Spencer was a child he was a book snob, he blamed his mother, spending eight hours, ten am to six pm, in a library broaden his horizons, he discovered science fiction, romance, and among other things, true crime. He fell in love with a little known author, David Rossi, he was an ex-FBI agent, he knew what he was talking about, he also included the psychology, instead of just classing a person as 'evil' or a 'monster'.
From living on the streets Spencer learnt there wasn't 'evil' just perspective.
The homeless aren't a community, they don't get along, or teach the new kid, or help each other. They ignore each other, so there was no sitting around the fire with a $4 bottle of whisky swapping stories.
When Spencer first ended up on the streets he had a sleeping bag and some precious belongings but they were a hindrance. He couldn't carry them around with him and he couldn't leave them. Having nothing is beneficial to the homeless. Owning a sleeping bag in winter is inviting trouble.
He hated the people who would give him food and not money. They were always so self-righteous, thinking they were doing him a favour, doing the better thing, but there was always the implication of mistrust, of belief that homelessness equals drug problem. They were more likely to stop and talk as well. Money is better than food, the homeless person can access their needs better, food isn't always what you need. Being given a sandwich would only cause Spencer's empty stomach to demand more, more he wouldn't be able to get. He soon learnt that giving out food was often really the cruellest 'kindness'.
Once you're on the street you're stuck there. With no address or phone number applying for a job or help from the government is impossible. Even if you did getting a copy of your CV and getting clean and having something smart to wear is an even more difficult task. And when you got the job, you don't have a bank account so unless it's cash in hand there's no way for them to pay you. Any jobs would be menial one offs. You'd never be able to work yourself off the streets.
He was solicited sometimes, although he never offered. He was surprised anyone would want him, he accepted, when he was hungry and the punter had condoms, Spencer couldn't afford them, and he couldn't risk an STI not here, medical care? What's that? He was hungry, he wanted to live, there are a completely different set of morals when you're homeless, starving, and nobody cares as they walk by you on their way to work day after day, ignoring you as you slowly die.
To not steal, or sell the only thing he had was akin to suicide. He didn't have a guitar, or talent, and begging wasn't worth it.
He was lucky, in those first six months he was only beaten once. He was a white man, it was easier for him, his body offered him protection women and people of colour could never have. Once, when there was unexpected snow, he smashed a window deliberately. Even though they knew what he was doing the police were still kind enough to arrest him.
Spencer made the six month mark. It was strange as he mentally toasted congratulations, he was proud of himself, the niche he had craved for himself on the streets was his, his greatest archivment. He adapted. And years later when he had a safe cosy home, with warm running water, and food (all you ever really miss when on the streets) he would look back at this time in fondness and a part of him would miss it.
He didn't have the funds to travel around, besides to move on would to lose knowledge, to have to start those first six months again. As you learn where to avoid, where the best pickings are, and most importantly who to avoid. Moving isn't really an option.
What saved Spencer was a book reading and a nickle. David Rossi came to promote his books, his popularity was slowly gaining. Spencer couldn't help himself as he sat and listened to Mr Rossi talk. He asked questions, he engaged, it was strange not being invisible, to invite people to notice him.
At the end Mr Rossi approached Spencer, he tossed him a nickle and told him to call one Jason Gideon. He could tell this was Mr Rossi teasing, giving some crazy homeless kid who can repeat big words Mr Gideon's phone number. A prank paid on a colleague he never quite saw eye to eye on.
But while Spencer had lost control once, this time, this situation he would make his own.