Today I walked across the river to Fountain Square in Cincinnati and had lunch with a man named Billy. Billy is tall and lanky, in his 50s, and has long hair and facial hair. He speaks softly, but eloquently and intelligently. Billy's originally from coastal Florida, on the Atlantic. He worked as a roofer there before coming to Cincinnati on a bus in 2007. When I asked him why he would move from paradise to Ohio, he said that while the area was beautiful and peaceful most of the time, he was scared of the gun-fire and crime there. He does miss the weather.

Billy loves music, and used to be able to play the guitar. Unfortunately he doesn't have one anymore. Like me, Billy likes BBQ, but hates coleslaw. His favorite neighborhood in the entire city is Mt. Washington. He says the shops are small and friendly, it's quiet, low-traffic, and he likes all the trees there.He sometimes feels boxed-in, downtown. Billy doesn't have any family in the city, or elsewhere for that matter. He has some friends, but he's not close to any of them.

Billy mentioned that he's having housing issues right now after running into "personal issues" with his landlord. I asked how long ago this was. Billy's been on the streets since early 2008.

Billy still has his pride. He told me that this was temporary. It's taken him a while, but he's certain he'll get things together soon. I didn't ask, but he reassured me he's not a drug user. His arms tell a different story.

I thanked Billy for the company, shook his hand, wished him well, and went back to my air-conditioned room to sit in my padded chair and finish my work on my $1,600 computer.