Oct 10, 2026 · 2 hr 40 min · 37 segments
Step past the threshold of reality into an infinite maze of damp carpet, buzzing fluorescent lights, and mono-yellow wallpaper. On this spine-chilling episode of *Nightfall*, we plunge deep into over…
Before I could even walk another block, the accumulation quickly overwhelmed the precautions set out by the street plows.
Within half an hour, the well-manicured lawns shouldering the sidewalk were blanketed in white powder.
The snow found its way into my boots through holes where the leather and the sole met, soaking my heels.
Seems like the neighborhood I'd wandered into was too ritzy, too upper-middle-class suburbia to have any forgotten dumpsters or abandoned storage containers for me to weather the night in.
But just before I'd lost all hope, I spotted a park bench beneath the glow of a streetlight.
I knew there wouldn't be any warmth there, but at least I'd be off the ground.
They should really do one of those survival TV shows, but for the homeless trying to survive in winter.
It would be more entertaining than some British guy drinking his own piss somewhere in the jungle, loaded down with a ton of gear and new-age technology.
As I laid down and receded into my car heart like a turtle in its shell, I reflected on how I'd gotten here, twenty-seven years old and homeless.
I was certainly to blame, but it did nothing for the poverty that addiction had sunken me into.
After multiple arrests, a year incarcerated up at state, and several relapses, I was essentially a leper to any potential employers.
My hope was that he was the good kind of Christian, the kind who'd receive me like a prodigal son and put me to work on his farm, and not the bad kind of Christians that quickly spat judgments and really only worshipped their BMWs and flat-screen TVs.
But as the snow coated my knees and a deep chill took hold of my bones, I wondered if I'd ever make it there to find out.
My eyes were heavy, my mind screamed for sleep, but every time I started to doze off, a cold gust of wind would roll across my body, piercing my clothing, keeping me from slumber.
Before I could even walk another block, the accumulation quickly overwhelmed the precautions set out by the street plows.
Within half an hour, the well-manicured lawns shouldering the sidewalk were blanketed in white powder.
The snow found its way into my boots through holes where the leather and the sole met, soaking my heels.
Seems like the neighborhood I'd wandered into was too ritzy, too upper-middle-class suburbia to have any forgotten dumpsters or abandoned storage containers for me to weather the night in.
But just before I'd lost all hope, I spotted a park bench beneath the glow of a streetlight.
I knew there wouldn't be any warmth there, but at least I'd be off the ground.
They should really do one of those survival TV shows, but for the homeless trying to survive in winter.
It would be more entertaining than some British guy drinking his own piss somewhere in the jungle, loaded down with a ton of gear and new-age technology.
As I laid down and receded into my car heart like a turtle in its shell, I reflected on how I'd gotten here, twenty-seven years old and homeless.
I was certainly to blame, but it did nothing for the poverty that addiction had sunken me into.
After multiple arrests, a year incarcerated up at state, and several relapses, I was essentially a leper to any potential employers.
My hope was that he was the good kind of Christian, the kind who'd receive me like a prodigal son and put me to work on his farm, and not the bad kind of Christians that quickly spat judgments and really only worshipped their BMWs and flat-screen TVs.
But as the snow coated my knees and a deep chill took hold of my bones, I wondered if I'd ever make it there to find out.
My eyes were heavy, my mind screamed for sleep, but every time I started to doze off, a cold gust of wind would roll across my body, piercing my clothing, keeping me from slumber.
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