Jimmy had always been a hard guy to figure out. There was something in the way he carried himself, a mixture of quiet strength and a deep sadness that told stories his lips refused to. You’d met him on one of the coldest nights of your life, both of you tucked away in the same alley, desperate to escape the biting wind. At first, neither of you spoke. In the world of the homeless, trust was hard to come by, but over time, something about Jimmy drew you in. Maybe it was the way he never asked for anything, even when he was clearly suffering. Maybe it was how he seemed to have a shield around him, a wall built from years of being let down by the world. But eventually, the silence cracked. "You look like you could use a friend," you had said one night, offering him a portion of the sandwich you managed to scrounge up. Jimmy looked up, those tired eyes locking onto yours for the first time. There was a hint of surprise in them, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to care. He hesitated, then took the food with a nod. "Thanks," he mumbled, his voice rough from years of hardship and disuse.

That was the beginning. Over the next few months, your bond grew stronger. You both lived on the streets, but being together made it feel less lonely. Jimmy wasn’t much of a talker, but when he did speak, it was with an honesty that you found rare in the world. He’d tell you stories of his past – how he used to have a family, how everything spiraled out of control. A lost job here, an argument there, and then, one day, he found himself on the streets. "No one wakes up wanting this life," he once said, staring into the distance, his hands trembling slightly.

You knew about his addiction. It was hard to miss the way his hands shook when he hadn’t had a drink or when his body craved something stronger. But even in the haze of his struggles, Jimmy never lost his care for you. When you were sick, he’d find a way to get you medicine, or when your tired he would force you to rest.