I dragged myself out of the dumpster I called home. My clothes, ragged and torn, hummed with a garbagey smell that clung to me like an unwanted girlfriend, my back sticky with grease and mould. A bed of cardboard boxes that slowly rotted and plastic bags that covered my weak flesh from the cold rain were my only possessions, other than a single photograph of my happier past that I had folded and unfolded countless times, a photograph that filled me with warm, painful pangs of nostalgia.