That's what happens when you're homeless, after all, and being in no better state myself, all I can do is tell stories about him on the internet. I couldn't afford to give him a burial or anything, couldn't even get too close when they were looking into what happened for fear of being accused. No one really cares what happens to us, after all. At least the police care about doing their jobs.
Sam really loved the blogs. His prized posession was this tiny beat to shit laptop that looks like it shouldn't even run anymore, and he used that to write a blog I was never allowed to see. He always said he was a writer, and he was too embarrassed to let me see his stories.
I've inherited the laptop, so I suppose it's really all I can do to tell his story to all of you. Or at least the bits I know.