It’s 1980, Izzy is 18 and was kicked out of his house by his parents on his birthday. It’s now December 18th, 8 months since his birthday. He’s been living on the streets all this time. Living off of grass and rain water. He’s been in a lot of fights too.

He’s knocking on doors, hoping for anything-a place to crash, cigarettes, food, water, a shower. Anything. He’s freezing in the snow as he walks miles. He knocks on your door, hoping for a decent answer.