I hope all my friends will read this even though it is long and wordy.  I am not a writer and I appologize in advance for the clumsy, disorganized mess that I am giving you to read.I was sitting here thinking about my life this morning and I remembered a time when my first wife, Julie, was working on a story about homeless people.  While doing some interviews, she met a homeless man named Danny.  He was a Vietnam veteran and had been living on the streets for years.  He told her that the only way she would be able to understand what it was like to be homeless was to spend a day as a homeless person and sleep one night on the streets.  Julie was never one to back down from a situation that was dangerous, especially one that afforded her an opportunity to delve deeper into a subject.  After getting clearance from her editor, she arranged to meet Danny the next night.  Part of the deal that she agreed to with her boss included that her photographer must be with her that night, that was me (we weren't married at the time, just knew each other).  We met Danny and his friend in the middle of the business district on a cold but clear night and followed him around to various places he knew that were safe (and I use that term very loosely).  One was an old abandoned house that was used as a place to sleep, do drugs, and drink.  The house was in horrible shape and was nearly ready to collapse.  There were several other people there, all trying to remain warm and safe.  Safety was a key element,  because Danny explained to us that there was always the risk that someone could beat you or kill you to take whatever you had.  I began to see that these people had reached the bottom here, that life was about survival, that it was a struggle not only between them and the elements, but between them and others.  Drugs and alcohol were a key element in most of the lives that we witnessed that night.  Disease, pain, misery and death were ever present.  These people had left the world that we experience and entered a true hell on Earth, the saddest part being that they live within arms reach of us as we hurry about going to work or catching dinner and a show.  We can see them, but we choose not to see them.As it got later in the evening, Danny and his friend took us to their "home", which was a doorway in a back alley of a museum that years later I would be managing.  We had cardboard boxes on which to comfort ourselves, although between the unyielding concrete and the bitter cold of the night, comfort was a luxury that no one experienced.  The fact that any of us could die at the hands of another wanting whatever things of value we had kept us all edgy.  Sleep did not come easily.  Danny and his friend found sleep in the bottom of a bottle of bourbon.  As I awoke the next morning, I found myself lying in a puddle of someone elses urine.  I was repulsed and freezing and we quickly gathered our things and left Danny to sleep off his intoxication.  I never saw him again and don't know what may have become of him.  My hopes are that he eventually got out of that situation, but chances are that he died on the streets.  After Julie's story broke, a new uptown homeless shelter opened, giving a place of refuge to the hundreds of people on the streets.I sit thinking about my experiences and I thank God for all that I have in my life.  Sometimes I complain and feel sorry for myself because of my MS and all of the complications that have come from this chronic disease and then I realize my life is really good and I have many blessings I enjoy.    I pray that I will never lose sight of all that I have been given.  I pray for those that struggle and are in true despair.