Zoe Coleman

I'm originally from Chicago, but the milder temperatures brought me to California. For the past six years, I've been living on the streets of San Francisco. It's hard and dangerous out here, only the strongest survive. I was addicted to fentanyl for a while, and it's actually a miracle I'm still alive. Many of my friends and acquaintances from the streets have already died from drugs. They were still very young but without any chance.

Many can't imagine what it means to survive as a 28-year-old black woman with no education, no money, and no family support in the capitalist highlands of the USA. Here in San Francisco, you are considered poor if you earn less than $120k a year. The rents are crazy expensive, and even if you have a job like I do, it doesn't guarantee a comfortable livelihood. My home was a tent for years.

Until recently, a young man took me into his home. In view of the social coldness, that is anything but a matter of course. In my new apartment, I'm experiencing a total contrast. There are two bathrooms, spacious rooms, and even underfloor heating. My savior is white and obviously very privileged. I don't yet know exactly what his intentions are in taking me in. If it's sexual in nature, I'll know how to defend myself. I've had to assert myself on the street long enough.

For now, I'm just trying to adjust to this new reality, one that feels almost surreal compared to the life I've known. Sometimes, when I sit in the warmth of my new home, I think about the friends I've lost and wonder why I was the one to get this chance. It’s a bittersweet feeling, knowing that I'm safe now but also realizing how many are still out there, struggling to survive.