Since publishing The Grind, more people ask me about my next chapter than my politics. The truth? I’ve evolved. Life humbles you. When you’re out on the battlefield, sometimes the only people who have your back are the same ones you once overlooked. That kind of grace will change a man.
Am I endorsing AOC? Jasmine Crockett? No. And no, I haven’t become a card-carrying commie either. I just stopped more adolescents in suits. It needs adults in the room. People who understand you won’t get everything your way, and that’s not weakness. That’s realism.
At the markets, I hear all the debates — Medicaid, Social Security, the debt. The truth is, Social Security’s been around since 1935. Medicaid since 1965. Boomers got theirs. My generation might not. People are tired of recycled outrage. The resentment is boiling.
But I don’t blame Trump or Biden for my missteps. I made bad moves. Took shortcuts. Paid the price. But failure? That’s just tuition. I learned. I grew. I regrouped. And I’m grateful to those who supported me. No bitterness toward those who didn’t. Street Sense isn’t just a newspaper — it’s a bet. When someone hands me $3, they’re not just buying a paper. They’re saying: “I believe in you.” That’s more than charity. That’s trust.
I never gave a sob story. I treated every sale like an investment. People betting I wouldn’t blow it. And while I’ve stumbled (who hasn’t?), I try to live with purpose. Because I believe God has a calling for me.
They said, “You can’t make a living writing for a homeless paper.”
But that didn’t stop me. Money doesn’t move me. Passion does. I’m not writing this book for a million-dollar advance. I’m writing it because it’s mine. My story. My grind.
Success isn’t viral. It’s daily. It’s getting laughed at, ignored, and rejected — until the tide turns.
They laughed at Noah, too — until the rain came.
So don’t show up for the feast if you skipped the harvest.
People ask, “Why don’t you get a job?” Nobody asks, “Why not start a business?”
I’m not chasing a paycheck. I’m chasing freedom. And freedom costs. Sometimes it costs comfort. Safety. Even pride. Some people think I’m crazy for turning down job offers. But nobody ever asks what your soul costs. Prostitutes make good money, too, but do they love what they do?
I might fail. But I like my odds. And I’m not left or right anymore. I’m in service to whoever needs me. If your tire’s flat, I’ll help. I don’t care how you vote. I never forget who helped me. And I help those I can.
I sleep well. No pills. No guilt. I’m not aiming for average. I don’t want a seat at the table. I want to own the bar. Sit in the king’s chair. Call it crazy. I call it vision. I didn’t do it alone. Street Sense gave me a platform. Nobody is self-made.
Someone taught you how to walk. Someone tied your boots. Enough with the bootstrap myth, someone tied the damn laces first.
This journey? It started with newspapers. Now I’ve written for The Washingtonian, The Examiner, and The Big Issue. Been on TV. Met celebrities. Sold papers to politicians. And not everyone claps when you rise. Some want to drag you back down.
That’s why I grind.
To the new vendors: Don’t just sell. Build. Write. Invest. Diversify. Don’t wait for permission. Use what you’ve got.
I never begged. I built. And now, I’m finishing my book. Some say it could be a movie. I believe that — not from ego, but because I know:
This isn’t just a survival story. It’s divine.
