"What's it like being homeless?" I ask. The question perks a prompt response from the 5'61/2" ex-biker, ex-boxer. Speaking with a raspy deep voice in rapid bursts, "Its great. I can come and go as I please. I don't have to answer to nobody." Pausing, he takes a short pull on his cigarette and says, "I'm as free as a bird. I get up when I want to and I go to sleep by the river under a blanket of stars."

Al's mind set is that of a 20-year-old's. He prefers to be called Hard-times, his biker club handle. Thin and wiry, he has long brown hair that ends in a pony tail. His comment strikes me as a bit too simplistic so I sarcastically reply, "It sounds like you're on some kind of perpetual camping trip." He shakes his head in affirmation and opens wide with a picket fence smile, "That's right."

It's hot and we are working on a brick job.

Alan W. Robey is a homeless man living in a 54-year-old body, riddled with five old bullet wounds and numerous battle scars. He's an ex-Army communications specialist, ex-husband, and a father of five. He does odd jobs around the neighborhood. He always shows up when he says he will and gives a good account of himself.

Hard-times mixes the mortar as I set the bricks. The sun has reached us.

I mention to Hard-times that there are agencies that help homeless people. He tells me that he has contacted the Department of Veteran Affairs in the past. "They sent me to Coatesville for their program. They even offered to fix my teeth, but I didn't want to go through all the pain," he adds.

I am curious how he became homeless in the first place. His story goes, "I was living in a room over a funeral home and my friends would ring the bell at all hours of the night. The funeral director told me I would have to move cause he didn't care for all the ringing of the door bell." I laugh at this story and think, 'What, was he afraid the bell ringing would somehow wake the dead?'

"So, what's your next move?" I ask Hard-times. He replies, "I'm working on getting a place, but I need to save enough for the first and last months' rent, plus the security deposit. I should have enough in two or three months....if work holds out that is."

We finish the brick job a few days later.

I have seen him since and he still finds the occasional odd job. He remains camped out by the river and now gets around on a fairly new bicycle.

--Article written with help of Alan W. Robey