In the summer of 1983, I was fortunate enough to spend a night under the stars. Although I had known homelessness with my mother as a small child, and would know many more years of housing insecurity, I can point to that night on a park bench in a place called Three Bridges and say, 'you made me.' Everything in my life I place before or after that night, full of revelations, an epiphany worthy of Joyce; I finally resolved that, for me at least, there was no God- my own personal a priori was established, as I stood (or rather lay) on the brink of adulthood. I resolved that I would always have to do things, 'get on', for and by myself. And, most relevant perhaps to this essay, the recurring themes of homelessness, rootlessness and alienation in my writing would be given a legitimacy no-one will ever be able to snatch away.