The sewing circle of homeless town.

"I don't know what's worse by number in America, the vacant houses standing, or the homeless people falling into them."

~ Anthony Liccione

I like referring to my homeless brethren as 'urban outdoors men.' It has a certain ring to it. Anyways, I decided to make a trek to my old stomping grounds yesterday. Thanksgiving had proved bountiful for me and I felt the need to share the leftovers with my 'urban outdoors men' friends.

Most homeless people are what I refer to as hyper local. Meaning they usually pick a certain area and never leave its confines - Think of it as a comfort zone kind of thing - I had the bus drop me off in front of an abandoned building that I knew to be frequented by street urchins. Surely I could find some of the brethren there. "Don't shoot, it's just a homeless guy." Before I made my entrance into the building, I blurted out the unofficial code words of the street. Trust me, it's a terrible idea to walk into a homeless encampment unannounced. After my greeting, I heard a familiar voice. "Dr. Seuss is that you?" The west Texas twang was unmistakable, "Indeed it is me Boatie, I brought some leftover Thanksgiving grub for you." Boatie originally hails from Midland, Texas. If he's not in jail, he's on the streets. I liken him to a modern day Texas outlaw. "What are you waiting for? Come on in," he replied.

I open the door, walk in, take a look around and then follow the light to the backroom. When I turned the corner I could have sworn that I was walking into a homeless summit. "Dr. Seuss, what the hell have you been doing?" Boatie wasn't alone, my friend Ajax was there as well. He got his nickname because he always carries a bottle of cleaner with him. He is undoubtedly the most anal retentive homeless guy in Las Vegas. "Hi fellas, how are things going? I brought you guys some scraps from Thanksgiving." I then opened up my bag and took out the Tupperware and paper plates. I had forgotten to bring silverware, but it turned out not being a problem. Most professional urban outdoors men carry their own. "Here, grab a seat." Another one of my street urchin friends, Yankee, had just wheeled a chair up for me to sit in. His moniker is based on the old crusted Yankees ball cap he always has covering his mop of unkempt hair.

We divvied up the food and everyone ate until their heart's content. After the feast was over it was time to play 'Gossip Girl' on all the latest happenings on Vagabond Lane. "Did you hear about Stinky?" Boatie replied. Stinky is another urban outdoors man whose claim to fame is that he once bedded Pamela Anderson. Of course, no one believes him. Anyways, I replied, "No, what's the deal with Stinky?" Boatie then looked at me and said. "You're really going to enjoy this story. Stinky is shacking-up with a girl in North town. I saw him the other day and he looks like a changed man. We can't call him Stinky anymore. He was wearing a suit and tie and driving his new ladies car." What's the best way to describe a character like Stinky? To me, he looks, acts and smells exactly how Hollywood would portray a bum. You could literally tag him for homeless from a mile away. So when they told me he had a girlfriend who was taking care of him, well, it brought a quick smile to my face.

After catching up on all the latest street gossip, I decided to call it a night and head back to my apartment. As I'm riding the bus home, a thought came over me - There is a certain camaraderie that many street urchins share - It stems from the notion that society has forgotten about them. Most only have each other to lean on. I feel it is best described as a kinship, which can be difficult to find nowadays.

The fallen angel of homeless town.

'By that sin fell the angels.'

~William Shakespeare

I was venturing down an alley in SW Las Vegas the other day when I heard the utterance of a girls cry. The streets are an unforgiving place to call home and my first intuition was to ignore it and keep moving on; but it proved too ominous. At first I was unable to pinpoint exactly where the shrill was coming from. I then heard another burst: I've developed a new habit since hitting the streets. It is counting how many steps it takes for me to get from one point to another: Eleven paces in the direction I was headed was all it took, eleven lousy paces and a glance to the right.

Sitting behind a dumpster was a young lady, at first gander; she couldn't have been much older than sixteen or seventeen. That was enough of a shock, but then I noticed something truly indelible; a baby was cradled in her arms. She looked up at me with swollen eyes and said, "They are trying to take her away from me and I can't let that happen." My life has had its fair share of precarious moments; but encountering a young girl crouched behind a dumpster crying and holding a baby is an image I wouldn't wish on my worst foe. After the initial shock was over, I asked her if there was anything I could do to help. She said this to me, "I made a mistake taking her without telling anyone. Do you have a phone so I can call my sister to come pick us up?"

She shifted the baby to one arm and I held the phone out so she could dial. The other line answers and I give her the phone to hold, she then said this. "Can you come get us? I took Sophia from the house because they were talking about putting her up for adoption again. I shouldn't have taken her but I didn't know what else to do." A few moments pass and she gives me the phone back. I asked her if there was anything else I could do for her. She was very polite when she answered, "Sir, you have been very nice. I am sorry that you had to see this. I just don't want to lose my baby. Thank-you again for letting me use your phone. I promise that we're OK. My sister is going to pick us up at Los Taco's.

I follow her and the baby out of the alley and over to Los Taco's. I asked her again if she was alright and if I could do anything to assist. She assured me again that things were fine and it was her responsibility to deal with it. After her statement, I decided it best to get moving, but I didn't travel far. I walked around the corner so I could see her but she couldn't see me. My intentions were to make sure that someone was actually coming to retrieve her and the infant. After a ten minute wait or so; a car pulls in and the baby and her enter it and drive away.

The streets are not a place for women, children or animals. None of them possess the necessary abilities to defend themselves against all the ills of the gutter. Now when I first saw this young lady crouched behind a dumpster crying and holding a baby, shock and disbelief were my immediate emotions; after they simmered. My thoughts turned to such. "Jesus, this girl belongs in a sophomore English class somewhere and the baby belongs in a loving home. Leave the crouching behind dumpsters in an alley for bums like me."

A tall tale from homeless town.

'Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and adventures are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgotten."

~Neil Gaiman


One of my favorite bums in Las Vegas is a guy named Harry, also known as -Dirty Harry- If you ever see him; you'll understand how he earned his moniker. Harry holds the title as the most delusional braggadocio on Vagabond Lane: A few weeks back, I was charging my phone in a power outlet on the outside of Wendy's. As I was standing there waiting for the phone to charge; two things distinctive to his presence occur: a smell that resembled rotten milk appeared in the morning air coupled with a dragging noise on the concrete. I didn't even look up to acknowledge him when I said, "What's going on Harry?"

Harry is disheveled to say the least and if the smell doesn't tip you off to his presence; the dragging noise of his lame foot caused from an auto accident years ago will. "Where have you been Dr. Seuss?" He calls me Dr. Seuss in homage to his favorite writer. We then spend a few minutes catching up on all the latest street gossip and such. Now most people can only take so much of him before it is time to politely excuse themselves. I am no exception, "Harry, I have to meet a friend of mine, so I will see you around." As I am walking away, he says this to me, "Did I ever tell you about the time I banged Pamela Anderson in the back of a limousine?"

I was twenty paces or so away from him when I decided to wheel it around and listen to his tale: "My friend and I were standing outside a restaurant in Las Vegas panhandling when a big black limousine pulled up beside us. The window rolls down and I notice a women with long blond hair staring at me. I make my way up to her thinking that she was going to throw me some coin and lo and behold it was Pamela Anderson in the flesh. I then said to her, 'You're Pamela Anderson, right?' She looks at me and says, 'Guilty as charged. I have been watching you for a while and I was curious to see if you wanted to do a little partying with me." 

Being disrespectful to people on the street is the quickest way in the world to get your ass kicked, but I couldn't contain my disbelief, so I told him this. "Harry, let me get this straight; you're telling me that Pamela Anderson pulled up in a black limousine and told you that she wanted to party with you. Come on dude. Do I look like a moron?" He then looks at me with all the conviction in the world and says. "That's exactly what happened. So I jump in the limousine with her and we have a few cocktails. She then tells the driver to pull around back and to go for a walk. A few minutes later both of us are naked and you know what she told me then; she said if you're going to fuck me, fuck me like you mean it, and that is exactly what I did! Now that's a story for your blog Dr. Seuss."

To be honest, I hadn't given his story a second thought until I talked with another street urchin friend of mine today. We started yakking about Harry and he asked me if I had heard the Pamela Anderson story. I rolled my eyes and told him I had. My friend then tells me this. "He has told that story to every derelict in town for the last two years and even the craziest of the crazy refuse to believe him. It is hard to imagine a guy who has been banned from Wendy's and McDonald's due to his lingering stench ever bedding Pamela Anderson, but who knows, maybe she suffers from sinus issues."

The Warren Buffett of homeless town.

"The way to make money is to buy when blood is running on the streets."

~John D. Rockefeller

You don't find any solace in it; but I am not the only homeless person in Las Vegas, not by a long stretch. If you look at the few blocks I roam - I did a poor man's census on this a few days ago and counted twenty plus just like me- Now if you fan out a little from my usual stretch the number turns colossal. My mother used to tell me that it takes all sorts and she was right, especially when it comes to the streets. I have encountered everything from the 'way gone' to the 'Average Joe. Homelessness has no creed, class or color. Now I have to tell everyone who reads this blog a certain truth I share with a number of fellow derelicts. It's not that all of us are crazy or lazy, of course some are. Its just a lot of us are trying to find are way and a stretch on the street, no matter how gloomy it may be, is serving as the guiding light. With that said, it's blatantly obvious to most that I need employment; but I'm not looking for a job per se. It's purpose that I truly long for. The remainder of the post is going to be dedicated to just that; purpose for Rob Astle. I ask one thing from people reading this post: Think.

It's been a while, but I used to dedicate a lot of my time analyzine a website called Groupon. By now, the majority are familiar with how they operate. So let's back up and tell everyone how Groupon was created. Before its conversion it was a website called ThePoint.com. The Point was a call to action website based in a section of Chicago, the sole purpose of the site was to draw attention to civic matters in the Greater Chicago area; Example: If there was a pot hole in the road or graffiti on a wall in the Point's call to action zone, they would notify their database and encourage them to call or email the correct authority to alleviate the problem. The effectiveness of their database proved so overwhelming; that it wasn't uncommon for thousands to reply to a single call for action. Well, after a year or so of the same results they decided it was time to monetize their database. Thus Groupon was born.

When Groupon rolled out in November of 2008, they had a hefty investment; which is important, but that's not what made them successful in the beginning. The underlying factor was an organic database of 150,000 that was built during the Point's existence. An organic database is best defined as a database that is built from the ground up. It is most effective when the initial message of a website/blog is based on ideological or hot button issues (civic issues, homelessness) people have proven to pay more attention to it versus a commerce site. The notion of monetizing is secondary in the beginning; but once an effective response is garnered, monetizing becomes the underlying factor.

What's the most effective (cost & strategy) way to build an organic database for my blog in the town of Las Vegas.?

Guerrilla Marketing is a strategy in which low cost unconventional means (graffiti, sticker bombing, flash mobs) are utilized, often in a localized fashion or large networks of individual cells; to convey or promote a product or idea. The term guerrilla marketing is easily traced to guerrilla warfare which utilizes atypical tactics to achieve a goal in a competitive or unforgiving environment.

I just gave you the Wikipedia definition of Guerrilla Marketing, mine is simpler: Be aggressive but tactful. Get your point/pitch across in the simplest of terms while keeping your target disarmed. Below is just one example of how I would Guerrilla Market my blog in Las Vegas.

The setting- a youth bible fellowship. The one in my neighborhood has two hundred and fifty members according to their brochure.

The approach- "Hello Ma'am/Sir, my name is Rob Astle and I am writing a blog about homelessness in Las Vegas. I've had some good response and I just want to share with other people what I'm experiencing. If you get some time, check it out. Thanks and have a nice day." I would then hand them a card with the blog address on it. If they didn't have any questions or concerns I would approach the next person and the next person and the next person.

The intended outcome- A certain percentage of the people in Las Vegas who are made aware of my blog are going to be inclined to view it. Especially if the content remains relevant. Homelessness is a big issue in Las Vegas. You can call it confidence, arrogance, call it what you want. I am under the belief that my storytelling in a reality sense is strong enough to attract and hold a crowd. The immediate goal is to build an organic database of five thousand within a three-six month of start of campaign.

I like to end every post of mine with a thought I'm having...Call it the vagabond thought of the day. "The unconventional is the new conventional, so to speak. I understand my current situation points to despair; At this point it may be too hard for people to look past it. But the key to any successful web based business in the beginning is building an organic database! At this juncture, I couldn't be in a better situation to pull a feat like this off. My ex wife told me a few weeks ago that if life gives you lemons make lemonade. That's my intentions. This idea is going to require some financial assistance, but not much. If a few people are gracious enough to string together a couple hundred dollars a piece and then pool it together: That would be sufficient: Once that happens - I will concentrate on improving the features of the blog, creating adequate marketing materials and hiring a number of other people to assist in the Guerrilla Marketing process."

The Sigmund Freud of homeless town.

"Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise."

~Sigmund Freud

An old friend from Kansas called the other day, he had read the blog and was expressing concern about my well being. "Where do you sleep at night? How do you get your food? Do you ever get scared?" Mama told me a long time ago that honesty was always the best policy, so I told him this. "I sleep behind a vacant building on a couple of pieces of cardboard. In terms of food, I eat whatever I can find during the day and at night my friend always fixes dinner from the food he boosts at Walmart. When I first hit the street I was a little scared, but not now; it's a matter of survival and being scared deters from that." 

We chatted some more and then he told me this, "Why don't I send you some money for a plane ticket and you move back to Kansas. I will line you out with a job and you can get back to living a normal life." His gesture of kindness is one of many that I have received since I started my blog about homelessness, but I can't leave Las Vegas, so I told him this. "Words can't describe how much I appreciate your offer to help. I've been overwhelmed by the kindness and sympathy my friends have shown me since my predicament started. But I have to stick it out in Las Vegas. I believe there is something unique waiting for me out here once the smoke clears." He wasn't agreeing with my prognosis, but then again he didn't chide me either. "Look, it sounds to me like your pride is clouding your judgment. But if you feel Las Vegas is still the place for you; fine. But don't you think it would make sense to get a roof over your head?" 

I like to end every post of mine with a thought I'm having...Call it the vagabond thought of the day. "My father called the other day and asked what benefit one could possibly derive from living on the streets. I thought about his question for a moment and then I answered him as follows. "Well, the main benefit of living on the street, you don't have to pay rent. It was kind of nice when the first of the month arrived and no one was knocking on the door for rent. Past that; the benefits of living on the streets are extremely scarce."

The River Phoenix of homeless town.

"Count your age by friends, not years. Count your life by smiles, not tears."

~John Lennon

One of the first people I met on the streets was a young man named Stoker. His story mimics scores of others on the streets of Las Vegas. He is a heroine addict and his addiction has kept him disenfranchised the last two years. He will be the first to tell you that. Whenever I encounter him I am always cordial, but for the most part I make it point to steer clear of him and others like him. Last Thursday, I was walking through Sienna park when I saw him sitting on a bench, crouched over, with his head in his hands crying.

To be honest, I don't like this kid too much, but when I saw him sitting there crying I felt it best to show compassion, so I offered him a bottle of water. "Stoker, here, take this bottle of water. Are you OK?" The kid has an uncanny resemblance to my favorite actor James Franco. That's the only thing I find cool about him. "Do I look fucking OK to you!" After his answer, I decided to leave it at that and move on. As I'm walking away, he tells me this, "I'm sorry about that dude. Its just been a horrible day. Last night my friend Alan died of a heroine overdose and I'm the only person who seems to give a shit." 

Unfortunately, news of this nature is old hat on the streets of Las Vegas. I told him I was sorry to hear about his loss. I then asked him if Alan was the guy who always rode a bike around, "That's him. The dumb bastard loved that bike more than anything. He would throw his cardboard on top of his bike and sleep on it. He was always so afraid someone would steal it from him." After he told me about Alan and his bike, I couldn't help but crack a smile. He saw my smile and cracked one of his own. I then told him this, "Try to remember the good things about your friend. It sounds like he was quite a character." He said that he would try and that he had to go. As I watched him walk away an unpleasant thought went through my head. It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if Stoker ended up like his friend. I pray that doesn't happen, but like I said, it wouldn't surprise me.

I like to end every post of mine with a thought I'm having...Call it the vagabond thought of the day. "I had a lifelong friend call me today and ask what the hell was going on with me. He then offered to fly out to Las Vegas and take me back to Texas with him. I want him to know that I appreciated his concern. I sincerely do. But the truth of the matter and it may sound bizarre to most who read this blog. I can't leave Las Vegas; no matter what. She's my home through good and bad."

The Martha Stewart of homeless town.

It was another hundred plus day in sunny Las Vegas and I was perched underneath a shady tree behind Food-4-Less when I heard a voice with a thick Texas drawl say, "What's going on partner? Is it hot enough for you?" I glance over my shoulder and standing directly behind me was a middle aged white male of slight build. He was wearing a baseball cap, shorts, a t-shirt and holding a six-pack of beer. "You look like you're thirsty guy. Here, have one of these brews." It was hotter than Hades and a cold beer at the time seemed heaven sent. He then asked me if he could sit down under the tree and catch a bit of the shade with me. I told him this, "Go right ahead. Thanks for the brew buddy. My name is Rob." I then shook his weathered hand and he tells me this, "My name is Brian and I stay over on the other side of Alta. I've been in Las Vegas the last few months. I moved here from California."

Brian looked, acted and talked so much like a Steinbeck character, it was surreal. His next question was more music to my ears. "Are you hungry buddy? I've got some pork chops and potatoes that I am getting ready to fry up. Do you want some?" It was another offer I could not refuse; but my question to him; how is a vagabond on the street planning on cooking dinner? I asked him such and he told me this. "No problem, I have a hot plate in my cart. I'll just plug it into the side of Food-4-Less and fry us up some vittles."

It was just a few pork chops and some fried potatoes, but damn it was good and I wanted him to realize that I was appreciative of his generosity. So I told him this, "I was so hungry I could have eaten the ass end out of a menstruating skunk. Thanks again for looking out." He then told me this, "Partner, you look to clean to be on the streets. What happened? Did your old lady just throw you out?" All one had to do was take notice of my new friend's push cart to realize he was a pro of the streets. Now, I wanted to be honest with him so I told him this, "My old lady through me out a long time ago, that's not the reason. The reason I'm living on Vagabond Lane is rather simple: I am a moron." We shared a few laughs, drank the rest of his six-pack and then he told me this. "I have to move it on down the road, people tend to get angry when I hang around too long. You watch yourself out here and I'll be seeing you around."

I like to end every post of mine with a thought I'm having...Call it the vagabond thought of the day. "I started my new blog because I wanted to share with people what I was experiencing. Reality genre is the correct term for this style of writing, at least that's what they tell me. With that said, I would like to thank everyone who has reached out and offered to help. I appreciate it more than words can describe."

The pimp of homeless town.

'In a declining civilization society will look to make a living off the back of its women.'
~Friedrich Nietzsche


The other day I was walking down the sidewalk with backpack in tow when I heard someone yell. "Hey man, come over here for a minute. I have something I want to show you." I look to my left and there stood a young black male leaning against a tricked out Chevrolet Nova. I wasn't sure if he was addressing me or someone else. So I pointed at myself and asked him if he was talking to me. He then says, "Yeah, I'm talking to you. Who else would I be talking to?" My first intuition was to keep walking; but when you're homeless with nothing but time on your hands; curiosity tends to get the best of you.

I walk up and ask what he wants. He tells me this, "You look like you could use a break from the heat. I got just the thing for you." Being on the street the last month or so has made me very perceptive and a bit leery; but he was correct in assuming I could use a break from the heat. I wanted to get straight to the point with him, so I told him this. "Dude, I'm not into drugs or anything like that." After my statement, I assumed the conversation was over and began to walk away. Much to my chagrin, it wasn't. "Homeboy, hold on for a minute. I have something a thousand times better than any drug. Take a look at these two." He then points to the backseat of the Nova and there sat two girls; one looked Latino and the other was dark as midnight. "Look man, it's a little slow right now and I am willing to give you a great deal on either or both."

Rule #1 for living on the streets; deal with whatever comes your way and deal with it fast! So I told him this, "Look dude, those are some pretty girls you got there; but maybe you haven't noticed; I'm homeless, so unless it's free I am going to have to pass on your offer." The kid smiled at me and said, "I gotcha white boy, if you ever come across some spare coin, I'll be around."

I would like to end this post with a thought I'm having...Call it the vagabond thought of the day. "Last week I received a message from an old friend of mine. She said I was dealing with life as it came at me. I have been thinking about her statement all week. She's right, but at this point in time; I don't know any other way to deal with it."

The James Franco of homeless town.

~I used to do a little but a little wasn't doing so a little got more and more.~
Guns-N-Roses ~ Mr .Brownstone

The reasons are vast as to why people end up on the streets: drug addiction, mental illness, financial ruin, broken relationships - pick your poison. My being on Vagabond Lane is simple; I am a moron. Well, let me phrase that a bit more sympathetically. I wanted to be an entrepreneur at all cost or consequence and now I'm facing the music, so to speak.

It was my second day on the street and I was sitting outside Starbuck's when I heard."Hey man, I've never seen you before." I turned around and there stood a young man; I'm guessing he was in his early twenties. He then said. "I'm Stoker, what's your name?" The first thing I noticed about this kid was his uncanny resemblance to my favorite actor; James Franco. I then told him my name and he offered me part of his Subway, which I gladly accepted.

After finishing the BLT, the two of us struck up a conversation. "How long have you been on the streets? Where are you from?" After I asked him a few questions, he looked at me and said, "Look dude, you are going to learn that it's every man for himself when you're on the streets. The fewer questions you ask, the better."

After a few pleasantries, he asked me this. "Do you dance with the devil?" I had a good idea what was he was implying, but I wanted to be sure. "What do you mean dance with the devil?" He looked at me rather strange and said, "You know man, do you ever use heroine?" I told him this, "The hardest drug I have ever used in my life was marijuana and it's been a long time since I used it. I seldom drink nowadays and when I do it's usually a beer. No, that stuff is not for me, I'm just some idiot from Kansas who has no money." After my answer, he gave me an even stranger look than before and said. "Good for you, if you want to get off the streets, be sure to stay away from the devil."

A minute or so goes by and the the kid tells me this, "Dude, I will see you around, I have got to get back to my panhandling so I'll have enough money to dance with the devil later on. The devil becomes very angry if he misses his dances."

My first night in homeless town.

"Hey man, the rent is due. Where's your share?" It was the last day of the month and rent time was here. I have been dreading this moment all week. I had been sick for a couple of weeks and didn't have the money for August rent. It was now time to face reality. "I hate to tell you this, but I don't have it and I'm not sure when I'm going to get it." My roommate is nice enough guy, but it was time for me to face it, money is money and there is no such thing as free rent. "Rob, I hate to tell you this, but I got another guy who wants to rent your room. He's already given me a deposit. You got to go brother. I wish you the best."

I have never been without a roof over my head. I'd slept in my car a time or two, but with no where to stay and no where to turn, this was a first. I packed up my stuff, which wasn't much, and called a friend of mine to see if he could store it for me. He agreed, and an hour later he came over and I loaded it in his car. "Where are you going to stay?" The truth of the matter is I didn't know. "I don't know buddy, I'll probably find a nice piece of cardboard, a shady tree and set-up residence somewhere on the block." My friend knew that I was in trouble and told me that he would help if he could. I appreciated his gesture, but he doesn't owe me anything, as a matter of fact no one owes me a thing. I put myself in this jam and it's my responsibility to get myself out of it. I kept a backpack with some clothes and toiletries.

Life was now my guide. After wandering aimlessly for a few hours I found acceptable shelter, albeit, it was a shady tree at a local park. To my chagrin, the park closed at nine. Well, as I'm walking down the road wondering where to lie my head next, I saw a trailer parked at a local business. The trailer sat back from the road a bit and it seemed to provide adequate shelter from mother nature. I made my way behind the trailer and realized I was not alone. There laid another vagabond sleeping on his king size cardboard. While I was living in my apartment, I'd seen this guy around the neighborhood a few times and even knew his name. "Joe, do you mine if I sleep here?" Vagabonds tend to be territorial. So I wanted his approval before I called it a night. He answered me with an air of discern. "I don't care man. Just stay on that side of the trailer and leave me alone."

I took my shoes off and laid down on my cardboard. As I'm lying there looking at the partially starry Vegas night; my life has begun anew.