Stan was no longer young but, in consequence, had gained much wisdom in life. He believed that wisdom to be of far greater value than worldly possessions…than any of the things most folks aspired to. He had no house…no car…little more than the things he carried in his pack and in the creaking embrace of his small two-wheeled cart. He was, as he had always been, beyond and above worry over such things.
He defied definition by others and cared not a whit what they thought of him. In his time he had gone from “street urchin” to “bum” to “homeless” to “dispossessed” to…whatever the current buzzword was for a man who chose to live outside the confines of normal society and, instead, to exist by the strength of his arm and the quickness of his wits. He was a modern-day pioneer with the high-rise buildings of the city as his peaks.
As seasons changed, so he changed with them. He knew every steam grate, every defunct house, every source of warmth and protection from the elements the metropolitan wilderness provevery steam grate, every defunct house, every source of warmth and protided. In the heat of summer, he took the shade provided, sought the solace of AC in darkened theaters and empty churches and thought himself well-provided for. In the dumpsters and back alleys of the urban badlands he found ample sustenance. Public fountains and discarded cups provided him a wide variety of consumable liquids. He wanted for nothing.
This story was written for the weekly Trifecta Writing Challenge word prompt: rainbow.