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      <description>Made with fortitude</description>
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      <pubDate>2018-02-05 05:22:48 UTC</pubDate>
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         <title>Vagrant vagabond lulling through the city night Walking through back alleys, inducing slight panic.                  Wearing a self-made silver studded black leather jacket, five year old motor cycle boots.                         Standing in shadows: breathing, smoking, sipping a bottle of madness.              He sleeps in the motorcycle mechanic’s garage where he works.                                 The Boss says “Don’t drink here, Don’t smoke your sh** here and Shower every morning at the gym!”A free place to sleep, it doesn’t matter to him.   Vagrant is alone in the world, old to this neighborhood.  He calls generic places his friends: unoccupied storefronts, boarded up former liquor havens, abandoned restaurants, closed down bars        Like these places, he once had an identity that meant something to its owner     He was a caretaker of a mother, a role model to a sibling, a disappointment to a father.     Time passed and so did his childhood home.     The neighborhood swallowed Vagrant, allowing him to roam.     He moved swiftly to friends garages until addiction and poverty chased all of their stability away.     He found himself alone, only a certificate of motorcycle repair from Trade Tech to ground him.      Vagrant vagabond enjoys nightly tacos at the truck down the street.        He has a rapport with the liquor proprietor on the next block,  getting stuff on credit until his next check from the shop.   The hard drugs are over, companion emotional investment is nonexistent.   Cold steel fills his now jaded heart.    Vagrant focuses on daily vices to maintain, to get by  otherwise his loneliness makes him cry </title>
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         <title>Celebrating the 50th anniversary of East LA Walko</title>
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         <title>Roman Warehouse</title>
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