Dinosaurs: Part 2

In the morning I get up when it’s still dark outside and it’s so quiet I can hear a cat walking on the sidewalk. I’ve told you before that right before the sun comes up, the dinosaurs come out. If the window by my bed were on the ground floor, there would be about 8 feet of space between us: him on one side of the wall, me on the other. Sometimes I want to tell him, “If you can get up every day and roll your cart through the streets at exactly the same time, and find the bottles and cans and plastics, and take them to the recycle place and exchange your goods for cash, then don’t you realize you can have a job and live in this world?” 

I do live in this world.
I know but, well, you seem sad and tired.
So do you.
Well. But I have hopes and dreams.
And I live in the present.
What good is the present if you're not enjoying it.
How do you know you're enjoying it if you live in the present.
OK now you're messing with me.
You started it.
I don't believe that rolling a cart around is better than having a roof over your head, and a warm bed and a soft pillow.
That's why you're on that side of the wall and I'm on this one.