By Kiah Berkeley
Everything was so still that morning. I rose from the sad little mattress I’d been sleeping on in a back room that still smelled slightly of dog piss and went into the adjoining bathroom. Someone had been in and out of there all night, throwing up, irritating me. I looked out through the door to the tiny living room and saw someone passed out on his back, blocking the front door. My best friend’s brother, Will, recently back from alcohol rehab, was snoring in a dirty brown recliner.
“I’m too old for this shit,” I thought over and over as I crept around the apartment, trying not to wake them up. I was an adult, between master’s degrees, yet here I was microwaving a 50-cent burrito for breakfast in a filthy kitchen that reeked of garbage.
Kiah Berkeley is a first-year Master of Journalism student at the Ryerson School of Journalism.