August 1, 2025 • 31 mins
What happens when a man falls so far that he disappears from the world? When did you stop noticing the homeless man on the corner, and what if that man was once just like you?
"The Crash," the fourth episode in our Grandeur series, takes us to the darkest places of human experience – not with dramatic flair, but with the quiet devastation of reality. We follow a nameless man through shelter cots and park benches, through hunger and invisibility, watching as he clutches a mysterious "night" in his coat pocket and the last fragments of his former identity.
This isn't poverty tourism or inspiration porn. It's a raw examination of what happens when someone slides through society's cracks. The true horror isn't in the cold or hunger, but in the moment when death happens two bunks over and you feel nothing at all. When numbness replaces pain. When you realize no one is coming to save you.
But within this darkness lies a profound truth – rock bottom isn't just where you fall; it's where you finally stop digging. It's where the real choice begins. As our protagonist sits with a humming object that seems to watch him, we witness the nearly imperceptible moment when something shifts. Not dramatically, not with fanfare, but with the quiet recognition that if no one is coming, then what happens next is entirely yours.
Through reflection questions, we challenge you to examine your own life: What parts of yourself have you been numbing to survive? What objects do you carry that no longer give you power? Who would you become if you accepted that salvation is your responsibility alone?
Connect with me through the podcast description, email me at anthony@gentsjourney.com, or find me on Instagram @mygentsjourney. Remember – you create your reality.
"True mastery is found in the details. The way you handle the little things defines the way you handle everything."
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode four
of Grandeur.
This one's called the Crash.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto the cold open.
He doesn't remember fallingasleep, just the cold and the
(00:26):
way his back pressed against thestone Corner outside the church
Like it might swallow him wholeif he leaned too hard.
His socks are damp.
He hasn't changed them in threedays.
Every step rubs the blistersraw again.
There's a spot under his heelthat feels like it's bleeding,
(00:47):
but he's too exhausted to check.
Not tonight.
Last time he showered was fivedays ago.
That's a guess.
Time's a blur now.
The kind of blur that tasteslike stale ramen and burnt
coffee.
The kind of blur that stealsyour name in pieces.
Ramen and burnt coffee.
(01:08):
The kind of blur that stealsyour name in pieces.
He's not sure the man and hisID photo exists anymore.
That man had a fiance, that manhad health insurance.
He begs, not out loud, not withsigns, just in the way he sits,
the way he doesn't meetanyone's eyes, the way he
(01:29):
lingers near places people passbut never places they gather.
Once he asked Once, and the waythe woman's lip curled like she
might spit on him.
That was enough.
Now he just sits.
The shelter smells likechemicals and failure.
Everyone's running fromsomething.
(01:52):
Most of them are running incircles, and there's danger
there.
Not loud danger, but the slowseeping kind, the kind that
smells like melted plastic andburned foil.
The kind that watches you sleep.
The kind that sees a man'sweakness and finds a price tag
for it.
(02:13):
He keeps his shoes on even whenhe sleeps.
And the night that stays in hiscoat, always close to his heart
, where no one, no one can seeit, where he can still feel it
though, a piece of somethingthat once meant something.
(02:35):
Now it's just there, a weight,a reminder, his stomach cramps,
too much caffeine, not enoughfood, or maybe it's the fear,
the kind that doesn't leave, thekind that speaks and whispers
just before you fall asleep,telling you you're not getting
(02:56):
out of this, telling you that noone's coming, that you're not
just alone, you're forgotten.
He walks because stillness is atrap.
If he keeps moving, the weightof it all catches up.
So he wanders through alleyways, past windows he used to see
(03:17):
from the inside, pastrestaurants where he once left
tips.
Now he looks through the glasslike a stray dog, soaking in
what warmth he can from thesound of forks and laughter.
He passes a man's face down inthe gutter.
No one checks.
He doesn't either.
He tells himself it's becausehe's too tired.
(03:39):
But it's not.
It's because he's afraidthat'll be him soon, that
looking at it too long might bea prophecy.
Somewhere around 4 am he ends upback at the bridge.
The same one, the same ledge,the same cold breath of wind
rolling up off the water.
It doesn't shimmer like it usedto.
(04:00):
It doesn't say anything, itjust stares back.
He grips the night, doesn'tpull it out, just holds it as if
to remind himself he's stillreal, that there's something
left of him that matters.
But the truth is he's not sureit does Not anymore.
(04:22):
His hands shake, maybe from thecold, maybe from something
deeper.
A siren passes in the distance.
Blue lights roll across thealleyways.
For a moment he hopes they'recoming for him, that someone saw
something and called, thatmaybe he's still visible.
(04:42):
But they don't stop.
They never do.
He turns back towards theshelter.
The street is wet, the windcuts deep and he walks, not
because he has somewhere to go,but because standing still feels
like too much, like surrender.
This is rock bottom.
(05:04):
But he doesn't know it yet, notfully.
That realization it's coming,and it won't be kind.
Part 1.
The Crash he didn't mean tosleep there.
The park bench wasn't a choice,it was just the last place his
(05:27):
legs gave out the kind ofexhaustion that isn't about
sleep, it's about surrender.
His coat was wet, his sockscolder than concrete and his
breath, only thing that told me,hasn't vanished yet entirely.
Kent showered in six days.
He knew it because the itchunder his arms had turned into a
sting and that the man who gavehim a dollar yesterday left it
(05:51):
on the bench instead of handingit to him.
That's when you know, whenpeople stop seeing you as
someone who could be them.
Now you're something else Anobject, a smell, a warning.
The shelter had rules.
You could only stay threenights in a row unless you had a
(06:17):
voucher.
He didn't.
So the cot was gone, the littlesafety net of flickering lights
and bad coffee and peoplescreaming at the ceiling in
their sleep.
It was no longer his.
The world had become sharper.
Every glance from a strangercut deeper.
Every question you good manFelt like mockery.
No, he wasn't good, he was awreck.
(06:43):
And yet somewhere in thatwreckage he still had the ring,
small box wrapped in cloth, keptat the bottom of his pocket,
could have sold it, should havesold it, but he didn't.
It was the last sacred thing heowned, the last proof that
there was a before, before thefuneral, before the layoff,
(07:10):
before he sold the car.
This wasn't a fall anymore,this was the ground.
And yet the city kept moving,it didn't care.
He pulled the night from hiscoat, not to look at it, just to
feel its weight, just toremember that something had been
handed to him once, thatsomething still chose him, even
(07:34):
if he no longer chose himself.
Someone walked by, abusinessman polished shoes,
crisp coat.
The man looked at him, thenaway.
Like seeing him was wrong, likeacknowledgement was betrayal.
He clenched the night tighter.
Something had to change.
But what do you do when there'sno step left to take, when even
(08:00):
a small decision feels likeit'll cost too much?
Even the small decision feelslike it'll cost too much.
He leaned back against the bench, eyes toward the gray sky and
for the first time he didn't askfor hope.
He just asked to make it onemore hour.
Part 2 the streets blur whenyou're walking without purpose,
(08:24):
just one foot in front of theother, breathing through a scarf
that smells like mildew andregret.
He stopped noticing the stairs,not because they stopped coming
, but because they started tofeel deserved.
He begged today, not bystanding on the corner with a
sign that still felt too proud.
No, this was quieter, moredesperate.
(08:44):
He begged today, not bystanding on the corner with a
sign that still felt too proud.
No, this was quieter, moredesperate.
He waited near the alley behinda coffee shop, watched people
drop change into a red bucket bythe door, watched them tip
baristas with ease of gods,tossing coins into fate.
When the last customer left, heapproached a man throwing out
the trash.
Voice, low, eyes down, you gotanything you don't need.
(09:07):
The guy didn't even flinch,just closed the bin and walked
inside.
He stood there for another 30seconds, then left.
There was no outrage, just thequiet realization that even
dignity, when starved longenough, stops protesting.
It's not just the hunger or thecold, it's the invisibility.
(09:31):
You walk for hours and not oneperson looks at you in the eye,
and the night Still there, stillquiet, like it's watching him,
judging or maybe just waitingfor something.
But for what?
He passed an old friend today.
Maybe it was someone from hisold building.
(09:52):
The guy always borrowed jumbocables and talked about weekend
barbecues.
The man didn't recognize him.
His beard had grown in, eyesdarker now, face more hollow,
but he remembered the man'svoice, the same laugh, the same
joke about premiums.
He watched him get into theblack SUV, pissing his
(10:14):
daughter's forehead and drivingoff.
It felt like watching an oldmovie, one he used to be in, one
that no longer had a part forhim.
Back at the shelter the crowdgrew thicker Tonight.
A new man was outside yellingat a tree, shirtless, scarred,
laughing through broken teeth.
(10:35):
No one stopped him, not eventhe staff.
He wasn't the only onescreaming, he was just the
loudest.
He made it inside, got a floormat, not a cot.
The room weaked of sweat andstill air and something
unnameable that clung to thewalls like grief.
He curled up on the matclutching the night through his
(10:59):
coat, and somewhere between thesnoring and the coughing and the
midnight fight three bunks over, he whispered to himself.
I don't know who I am anymore.
No one heard him.
But the night buzzed just once,and then silence Part 3.
(11:20):
Between then, silence, part 3.
Between the Teeth.
The wind tonight isn't gentle,it bites.
It's sharp and hollow, likeit's trying to cut through
whatever's left of him.
His coat, threadbare nowDoesn't help, just another layer
pretending to be something.
(11:40):
It's not Like him.
Like him, like everything.
He walks aimlessly down astretch of road that doesn't
even look familiar anymore.
Same city, same concrete, butnone of it feels real.
It's like the world blurred itsedges and now no one noticed
(12:00):
but him.
He hasn't eaten today, notreally yesterday either, just a
couple crackers he found at thebottom of someone's bag, and
they weren't looking.
He didn't steal them, they werejust Unattended, like
everything in a part of thistown, forgotten, Disposable.
(12:21):
The hunger doesn't ache anymore, it pulses quietly Like a
second heartbeat Somewhere inhis gut.
He drifts past the liquor store.
The windows are fogged withgrime and dust.
Inside, a man argues with thecashier about change.
The TV behind the counterflickers, showing muted images
(12:44):
of people smiling Lives filledwith choice and warmth.
He keeps walking, doesn't stop,does want to remember that he
used to have a favorite drink.
A group of teenagers laugh fromacross the street.
One of them points at him,mocking his limp, his smell, his
(13:04):
everything.
He's not angry, he's just tired.
Tired in the way that sinksinto your bones and makes you
your name, feel too heavy.
He finds a spot near an alleyand crouches behind a dumpster.
It reeks, but it's out of sightand that's all that matters.
(13:28):
He curls up into himself, theway animals do when they know
they won't make it through thenight.
His fingers fumble for thenight in his coat.
It's still there, still cold,still silent.
He doesn't pull it out, doesn'tlook at it, just needs to feel
(13:49):
it, to remind himself thatsomething still touches him,
even if it's not just metal.
The alley noises grow louder asthe sun disappears, bottles
break, someone shouts, somewherefarther down, someone sobs and
somewhere closer, someone laughs, but it's not the kind of laugh
(14:11):
you want to follow.
He presses his back to the wall.
He doesn't cry, not becausehe's strong, but because he's
past it.
The tears dried days ago.
What's left is worse Numbness.
That's what scares him, not theviolence, not the loneliness,
(14:36):
not even the hunger, thenumbness.
Because once that sets in, onceit becomes normal to feel
nothing, what's left to fightfor?
He closes his eyes and listensto his breath.
It's shallow, uneven, and yetstill there, barely.
(14:58):
Somewhere across the alley, aman mutters nonsense into a
puddle.
The words don't make sense, butthey're rhythmic, repeated a
chant, a loop name blame flame,same name, blame flame, same
name, blame flame, same.
Over and over and over.
(15:22):
It drills into his ears.
He stands up abruptly.
The sudden motion, dizzying theworld, tilts.
He grabs the wall to stayupright Too fast.
He tumbles towards the streetagain.
Past the kids, past the liquorstore, past the fake smiles on
the TV screen.
His vision, it's blurry, it'sswimming.
(15:44):
He makes it to a bus stop andcollapses on the bench.
He's shaking, he's not cold,he's just unraveling.
And no one sees, no one evenlooks.
The night hums once, then goesstill.
He doesn't notice.
(16:10):
Part 5.
In the Quiet Corners.
He didn't cry when she died,not at the hospital, not at the
funeral, not even when helowered the casket.
But he weeps now In the cornerof a sheltered hallway Between a
rusty radiator stack of olddonation bins.
He breaks.
No noise, no warning, just afull collapse.
(16:36):
Shoulders shaking, breath gone,chest tight.
His hand grips the inside ofhis coat so hard the seams
strain.
He presses his face into hissleeve, not because he cares
what anyone thinks, but becausethe smell is hers.
She used to wear this when itgot cold.
(16:56):
The wool still holds traces ofher perfume, something faint and
floral.
Now it mixes with the sweat andstreet and sorrow becomes
something else entirely, likememory rotting into grief.
He doesn't know how long hestays there.
A volunteer passes him, doesn'tstop.
(17:18):
He's invisible.
Now that is harder thananything.
It was once the man peoplewaved to at a coffee shop, the
one co-workers texted for advice, the guy who always brought the
extra charger and the spareumbrella and remembered
everyone's birthday.
Now he's a shadow and worse, aburden.
(17:43):
He finds himself staring at hishands again, like he's trying
to prove himself that they stillbelong to him.
But they're too thin now, toodirty, still shaking.
He takes the night out, wipesit off on his sleeve, not
(18:05):
because it's dirty but becauseit's the only thing he still
treats like it matters.
He tries to remember what theold man said, not the words, the
weight behind them.
He'd felt something then.
Now he just feels hollow.
That night a new guy comes intothe shelter, tall, wide stance,
(18:28):
eyes that scan every corner ofthe room.
He's not like the others.
He has a clean coat.
No twitch, no slur, just alert,too alert.
He sits on the bunk across fromhim and doesn't sleep, just
watches.
The night, doesn't hum.
That night the silence issuffocating.
(18:48):
In the morning he walks, doesn'thum that night.
The silence is suffocating.
In the morning he walks,doesn't say goodbye, just leaves
.
No destination, no plan.
He ends up at a bus stop withno route, just a metal bench and
an ad for a payday loan.
He stares at it like it mightoffer salvation, but it's just
(19:11):
numbers, just bait.
He thinks of calling someone,then realizes he has no one to
call.
Even if he did, what would hesay?
Hey, remember me, I'm nothingnow, just thought I'd share.
He laughs Out loud First timein weeks and then he weeps again
(19:38):
, but this time it feels honest,not like breaking, like
clearing, like something old,finally letting go.
He stays there until the sunsets, then walks back into the
city Night in his pocket, headdown, something.
(19:58):
Something is different in hischest A fracture Maybe, just
maybe a seed, part 6.
The sound beneath the cot feelssmaller now, not physically,
just spiritually, like hisbody's grown heavier with what
(20:22):
it holds and the thin framebeneath him can no longer bear
it.
Each night it groans under theweight not of flesh but of
everything else.
He hasn't changed clothes indays.
His hair is slick with sweatand street grime.
His skin smells like the insideof a coin purse metallic, sour,
(20:45):
unclean.
He showers once a week, if that, whenever the schedule lines up
, whenever there isn't a fightfor the faucet.
But most days it doesn't feelworth it, not because he doesn't
care, but because he does.
That's the worst part.
He still cares.
(21:09):
He still checks the mirror,still avoids certain angles
because they show him too much,still folds the shirt that
smells like her and sleeps withit under his arm, still keeps
the ring in his pocket Tuckedaway for safekeeping.
That's where he lives now.
The ground, every piece of himfeels lowered, leveled.
(21:33):
He eats whatever he's given.
He only speaks when spoken to.
He's learned to dodge thedangerous ones and nod at the
quietly broken.
They form their own tribes inhere those who talk to ghosts,
those who beg for a secondchances and those who have
forgotten that they're evenwaiting.
(21:55):
He doesn't know which one he isyet.
Maybe he's all three.
One night a man overdoses, twobunks over.
He doesn't scream, doesn'tconvulse, he just stops and by
the time they notice he'salready cold.
(22:15):
They carry him out wrapped in ablanket, not even a body bag.
There's something off thedonation pile.
The shelter clears out forhours.
He stays, sits on the cot,stares at the empty bunk and
feels nothing, not shock, notsadness, just the echo of
(22:39):
inviolability.
He pulls out his notebook,tries to write.
He can't.
The pen skips.
The words vanish before theyreach the page.
So he draws a circle, then aline through it, then another,
(22:59):
then another, until it lookslike a shattered compass.
He doesn't know what it means,but it feels true.
That night, the night hums againsoft, like a whisper in his
heart, but this time it hurts,like a low pulse pressing
(23:21):
against something raw.
He holds it in his hand andwatches it do nothing.
No light, no shift, just hum.
He places it on a concretefloor beside the cot.
It hums louder.
He backs away, sits on the edgeof the bed.
(23:45):
The hum doesn't stop.
He kicks it once lightly.
It spins, stops, goes silent.
He doesn't sleep, just watchesit.
Until morning, when he finallystands and puts it back in his
pocket, something shifts insideof him Not peace, not clarity,
but awareness of the soundbeneath everything, of the beat,
(24:08):
behind the noise, of the factthat, even when everything falls
away, something stays and thatsomething is watching.
All right, let's go into themonologue.
This is the bottom, but it'snot the dramatic kind you see in
(24:29):
films.
There's no explosions, nobetrayal, no final scream into
the sky.
It's just silence, just a manfolded into himself, drifting in
a world that stopped callinghis name.
This episode wasn't aboutdecisions, it wasn't about faith
.
It was about weight, about howit feels to carry memories you
(24:52):
can't trade in for food.
About the ring in your pocketstops being romantic and starts
becoming a stone Heavy, cold andever-present.
You watched a man unravel.
He didn't scream, he didn'tfight, he just dimmed.
You may have missed it becauseit doesn't come with a
(25:14):
soundtrack, but the moment hesat still in that cot and felt
nothing, when someone diedbeside him, that was the moment
the world proved itsindifference, the moment he
realized it was all on him.
This wasn't a fall, this wasthe thud, this was the dirt on
(25:37):
the floor of the cave, the pointwhere digging stops.
The point where digging stopsWhether you rot or you rise, and
that's the terror, because thenext move is his.
There's no magic, there's norescuer, there's no rescuer,
just him Alone With a hummingnight.
I should say with the hummingof a night.
(25:58):
That may not even mean anythingreally, right, but if you've
been there, really been there.
You know that's when somethingshifts Not big, not bold, but
real.
This episode invites you to sitin that stillness with him, to
(26:20):
not flinch from the dirt, to askyourself the hardest question
of all what if no one's comingto save you?
And what if that's the bestnews you've ever heard?
Because if no one's coming,then anything and everything
that happens next is yours therecovery, the refusal, the
(26:41):
return.
It starts here, not at themountaintop, at the floor With a
man who smells like rust andsleep beside a piece of metal.
He doesn't understand you, yes,you.
If something in this episodefelt too close, too heavy, it's
(27:02):
not because you're weak, it'sbecause you're carrying and
you've been carrying too heavy.
It's not because you're weak,it's because you're carrying and
you've been carrying too muchalone.
And maybe it's time to namethat, to grieve that, to stop
waiting and start deciding.
So let's go ahead and get intothe reflection questions.
Reflection one what part of youhave you been numbing to
(27:26):
survive man?
I could name five thingsprobably, especially with this.
Number two when was the lasttime you truly let yourself feel
rock bottom, withoutdistracting or escaping?
That's a big question.
(27:46):
Number three what small,unnoticed decision could mark
the beginning of your rise?
Number four what symbols orobjects are you carrying that no
longer give you power but yourefuse to let go of?
And number five who would youbecome if you accepted that no
(28:13):
one is coming to save you, butyou're still worth saving?
I'm going to tell you something,and this is a question that was
asked to me a long, long timeago.
Actually, I think I read it ina book.
To be honest, it said if no oneis coming to save you and you
(28:34):
had a week left to live, whatwould you do with your life?
And that whole thing changed mylife.
It's actually one of thereasons why I started this.
To be honest, you know, I knowthese past two episodes have
been very, very heavy and it'shard to listen to, but I'm just
(28:58):
going to tell you this is thebottom of him.
It starts to get better, but inorder to build a hero, in order
to build someone, you've got tobuild them through challenges
and it has to be honest, right,and that's what we're doing here
.
So please understand thatthere's 16 episodes left and
(29:20):
there's a whole bunch that he'sgoing to go through and he will
ascend, I promise, but it'sgoing to take time and the
reason why I'm saying this.
I got a message today sayinglike oh my gosh, is this guy
going to be okay?
He will, he will be okay, Ipromise so.
Anyways, guys, since we'retalking about um messaging me,
(29:40):
let's just go over that reallyquick.
There's three ways you can doit.
First way is going to bethrough the description here of
the podcast.
There's a function or there'ssomething in the description
that says let's chat.
You click on that and you and Ican have a conversation about
this series, this episode, orthe 200 and I think we're almost
at 270 plus episodes of Gent'sJourney.
(30:03):
There's a ton of them out there.
There's a huge library.
That's the first way.
Second way is through my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom, so
feel free to reach out to methere.
And then, last but certainlynot least, you can always go to
my Instagram.
My Instagram is mygentsjourney,so please, please, please, feel
free to reach out to me thereas well.
(30:24):
Okay, so again, guys, thank youso very much for listening
today.
And remember this you createyour reality, take care.
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode four
of Grandeur.
This one's called the Crash.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto the cold open.
He doesn't remember fallingasleep, just the cold and the
(00:26):
way his back pressed against thestone Corner outside the church
Like it might swallow him wholeif he leaned too hard.
His socks are damp.
He hasn't changed them in threedays.
Every step rubs the blistersraw again.
There's a spot under his heelthat feels like it's bleeding,
(00:47):
but he's too exhausted to check.
Not tonight.
Last time he showered was fivedays ago.
That's a guess.
Time's a blur now.
The kind of blur that tasteslike stale ramen and burnt
coffee.
The kind of blur that stealsyour name in pieces.
Ramen and burnt coffee.
(01:08):
The kind of blur that stealsyour name in pieces.
He's not sure the man and hisID photo exists anymore.
That man had a fiance, that manhad health insurance.
He begs, not out loud, not withsigns, just in the way he sits,
the way he doesn't meetanyone's eyes, the way he
(01:29):
lingers near places people passbut never places they gather.
Once he asked Once, and the waythe woman's lip curled like she
might spit on him.
That was enough.
Now he just sits.
The shelter smells likechemicals and failure.
Everyone's running fromsomething.
(01:52):
Most of them are running incircles, and there's danger
there.
Not loud danger, but the slowseeping kind, the kind that
smells like melted plastic andburned foil.
The kind that watches you sleep.
The kind that sees a man'sweakness and finds a price tag
for it.
(02:13):
He keeps his shoes on even whenhe sleeps.
And the night that stays in hiscoat, always close to his heart
, where no one, no one can seeit, where he can still feel it
though, a piece of somethingthat once meant something.
(02:35):
Now it's just there, a weight,a reminder, his stomach cramps,
too much caffeine, not enoughfood, or maybe it's the fear,
the kind that doesn't leave, thekind that speaks and whispers
just before you fall asleep,telling you you're not getting
(02:56):
out of this, telling you that noone's coming, that you're not
just alone, you're forgotten.
He walks because stillness is atrap.
If he keeps moving, the weightof it all catches up.
So he wanders through alleyways, past windows he used to see
(03:17):
from the inside, pastrestaurants where he once left
tips.
Now he looks through the glasslike a stray dog, soaking in
what warmth he can from thesound of forks and laughter.
He passes a man's face down inthe gutter.
No one checks.
He doesn't either.
He tells himself it's becausehe's too tired.
(03:39):
But it's not.
It's because he's afraidthat'll be him soon, that
looking at it too long might bea prophecy.
Somewhere around 4 am he ends upback at the bridge.
The same one, the same ledge,the same cold breath of wind
rolling up off the water.
It doesn't shimmer like it usedto.
(04:00):
It doesn't say anything, itjust stares back.
He grips the night, doesn'tpull it out, just holds it as if
to remind himself he's stillreal, that there's something
left of him that matters.
But the truth is he's not sureit does Not anymore.
(04:22):
His hands shake, maybe from thecold, maybe from something
deeper.
A siren passes in the distance.
Blue lights roll across thealleyways.
For a moment he hopes they'recoming for him, that someone saw
something and called, thatmaybe he's still visible.
(04:42):
But they don't stop.
They never do.
He turns back towards theshelter.
The street is wet, the windcuts deep and he walks, not
because he has somewhere to go,but because standing still feels
like too much, like surrender.
This is rock bottom.
(05:04):
But he doesn't know it yet, notfully.
That realization it's coming,and it won't be kind.
Part 1.
The Crash he didn't mean tosleep there.
The park bench wasn't a choice,it was just the last place his
(05:27):
legs gave out the kind ofexhaustion that isn't about
sleep, it's about surrender.
His coat was wet, his sockscolder than concrete and his
breath, only thing that told me,hasn't vanished yet entirely.
Kent showered in six days.
He knew it because the itchunder his arms had turned into a
sting and that the man who gavehim a dollar yesterday left it
(05:51):
on the bench instead of handingit to him.
That's when you know, whenpeople stop seeing you as
someone who could be them.
Now you're something else Anobject, a smell, a warning.
The shelter had rules.
You could only stay threenights in a row unless you had a
(06:17):
voucher.
He didn't.
So the cot was gone, the littlesafety net of flickering lights
and bad coffee and peoplescreaming at the ceiling in
their sleep.
It was no longer his.
The world had become sharper.
Every glance from a strangercut deeper.
Every question you good manFelt like mockery.
No, he wasn't good, he was awreck.
(06:43):
And yet somewhere in thatwreckage he still had the ring,
small box wrapped in cloth, keptat the bottom of his pocket,
could have sold it, should havesold it, but he didn't.
It was the last sacred thing heowned, the last proof that
there was a before, before thefuneral, before the layoff,
(07:10):
before he sold the car.
This wasn't a fall anymore,this was the ground.
And yet the city kept moving,it didn't care.
He pulled the night from hiscoat, not to look at it, just to
feel its weight, just toremember that something had been
handed to him once, thatsomething still chose him, even
(07:34):
if he no longer chose himself.
Someone walked by, abusinessman polished shoes,
crisp coat.
The man looked at him, thenaway.
Like seeing him was wrong, likeacknowledgement was betrayal.
He clenched the night tighter.
Something had to change.
But what do you do when there'sno step left to take, when even
(08:00):
a small decision feels likeit'll cost too much?
Even the small decision feelslike it'll cost too much.
He leaned back against the bench, eyes toward the gray sky and
for the first time he didn't askfor hope.
He just asked to make it onemore hour.
Part 2 the streets blur whenyou're walking without purpose,
(08:24):
just one foot in front of theother, breathing through a scarf
that smells like mildew andregret.
He stopped noticing the stairs,not because they stopped coming
, but because they started tofeel deserved.
He begged today, not bystanding on the corner with a
sign that still felt too proud.
No, this was quieter, moredesperate.
(08:44):
He begged today, not bystanding on the corner with a
sign that still felt too proud.
No, this was quieter, moredesperate.
He waited near the alley behinda coffee shop, watched people
drop change into a red bucket bythe door, watched them tip
baristas with ease of gods,tossing coins into fate.
When the last customer left, heapproached a man throwing out
the trash.
Voice, low, eyes down, you gotanything you don't need.
(09:07):
The guy didn't even flinch,just closed the bin and walked
inside.
He stood there for another 30seconds, then left.
There was no outrage, just thequiet realization that even
dignity, when starved longenough, stops protesting.
It's not just the hunger or thecold, it's the invisibility.
(09:31):
You walk for hours and not oneperson looks at you in the eye,
and the night Still there, stillquiet, like it's watching him,
judging or maybe just waitingfor something.
But for what?
He passed an old friend today.
Maybe it was someone from hisold building.
(09:52):
The guy always borrowed jumbocables and talked about weekend
barbecues.
The man didn't recognize him.
His beard had grown in, eyesdarker now, face more hollow,
but he remembered the man'svoice, the same laugh, the same
joke about premiums.
He watched him get into theblack SUV, pissing his
(10:14):
daughter's forehead and drivingoff.
It felt like watching an oldmovie, one he used to be in, one
that no longer had a part forhim.
Back at the shelter the crowdgrew thicker Tonight.
A new man was outside yellingat a tree, shirtless, scarred,
laughing through broken teeth.
(10:35):
No one stopped him, not eventhe staff.
He wasn't the only onescreaming, he was just the
loudest.
He made it inside, got a floormat, not a cot.
The room weaked of sweat andstill air and something
unnameable that clung to thewalls like grief.
He curled up on the matclutching the night through his
(10:59):
coat, and somewhere between thesnoring and the coughing and the
midnight fight three bunks over, he whispered to himself.
I don't know who I am anymore.
No one heard him.
But the night buzzed just once,and then silence Part 3.
(11:20):
Between then, silence, part 3.
Between the Teeth.
The wind tonight isn't gentle,it bites.
It's sharp and hollow, likeit's trying to cut through
whatever's left of him.
His coat, threadbare nowDoesn't help, just another layer
pretending to be something.
(11:40):
It's not Like him.
Like him, like everything.
He walks aimlessly down astretch of road that doesn't
even look familiar anymore.
Same city, same concrete, butnone of it feels real.
It's like the world blurred itsedges and now no one noticed
(12:00):
but him.
He hasn't eaten today, notreally yesterday either, just a
couple crackers he found at thebottom of someone's bag, and
they weren't looking.
He didn't steal them, they werejust Unattended, like
everything in a part of thistown, forgotten, Disposable.
(12:21):
The hunger doesn't ache anymore, it pulses quietly Like a
second heartbeat Somewhere inhis gut.
He drifts past the liquor store.
The windows are fogged withgrime and dust.
Inside, a man argues with thecashier about change.
The TV behind the counterflickers, showing muted images
(12:44):
of people smiling Lives filledwith choice and warmth.
He keeps walking, doesn't stop,does want to remember that he
used to have a favorite drink.
A group of teenagers laugh fromacross the street.
One of them points at him,mocking his limp, his smell, his
(13:04):
everything.
He's not angry, he's just tired.
Tired in the way that sinksinto your bones and makes you
your name, feel too heavy.
He finds a spot near an alleyand crouches behind a dumpster.
It reeks, but it's out of sightand that's all that matters.
(13:28):
He curls up into himself, theway animals do when they know
they won't make it through thenight.
His fingers fumble for thenight in his coat.
It's still there, still cold,still silent.
He doesn't pull it out, doesn'tlook at it, just needs to feel
(13:49):
it, to remind himself thatsomething still touches him,
even if it's not just metal.
The alley noises grow louder asthe sun disappears, bottles
break, someone shouts, somewherefarther down, someone sobs and
somewhere closer, someone laughs, but it's not the kind of laugh
(14:11):
you want to follow.
He presses his back to the wall.
He doesn't cry, not becausehe's strong, but because he's
past it.
The tears dried days ago.
What's left is worse Numbness.
That's what scares him, not theviolence, not the loneliness,
(14:36):
not even the hunger, thenumbness.
Because once that sets in, onceit becomes normal to feel
nothing, what's left to fightfor?
He closes his eyes and listensto his breath.
It's shallow, uneven, and yetstill there, barely.
(14:58):
Somewhere across the alley, aman mutters nonsense into a
puddle.
The words don't make sense, butthey're rhythmic, repeated a
chant, a loop name blame flame,same name, blame flame, same
name, blame flame, same.
Over and over and over.
(15:22):
It drills into his ears.
He stands up abruptly.
The sudden motion, dizzying theworld, tilts.
He grabs the wall to stayupright Too fast.
He tumbles towards the streetagain.
Past the kids, past the liquorstore, past the fake smiles on
the TV screen.
His vision, it's blurry, it'sswimming.
(15:44):
He makes it to a bus stop andcollapses on the bench.
He's shaking, he's not cold,he's just unraveling.
And no one sees, no one evenlooks.
The night hums once, then goesstill.
He doesn't notice.
(16:10):
Part 5.
In the Quiet Corners.
He didn't cry when she died,not at the hospital, not at the
funeral, not even when helowered the casket.
But he weeps now In the cornerof a sheltered hallway Between a
rusty radiator stack of olddonation bins.
He breaks.
No noise, no warning, just afull collapse.
(16:36):
Shoulders shaking, breath gone,chest tight.
His hand grips the inside ofhis coat so hard the seams
strain.
He presses his face into hissleeve, not because he cares
what anyone thinks, but becausethe smell is hers.
She used to wear this when itgot cold.
(16:56):
The wool still holds traces ofher perfume, something faint and
floral.
Now it mixes with the sweat andstreet and sorrow becomes
something else entirely, likememory rotting into grief.
He doesn't know how long hestays there.
A volunteer passes him, doesn'tstop.
(17:18):
He's invisible.
Now that is harder thananything.
It was once the man peoplewaved to at a coffee shop, the
one co-workers texted for advice, the guy who always brought the
extra charger and the spareumbrella and remembered
everyone's birthday.
Now he's a shadow and worse, aburden.
(17:43):
He finds himself staring at hishands again, like he's trying
to prove himself that they stillbelong to him.
But they're too thin now, toodirty, still shaking.
He takes the night out, wipesit off on his sleeve, not
(18:05):
because it's dirty but becauseit's the only thing he still
treats like it matters.
He tries to remember what theold man said, not the words, the
weight behind them.
He'd felt something then.
Now he just feels hollow.
That night a new guy comes intothe shelter, tall, wide stance,
(18:28):
eyes that scan every corner ofthe room.
He's not like the others.
He has a clean coat.
No twitch, no slur, just alert,too alert.
He sits on the bunk across fromhim and doesn't sleep, just
watches.
The night, doesn't hum.
That night the silence issuffocating.
(18:48):
In the morning he walks, doesn'thum that night.
The silence is suffocating.
In the morning he walks,doesn't say goodbye, just leaves
.
No destination, no plan.
He ends up at a bus stop withno route, just a metal bench and
an ad for a payday loan.
He stares at it like it mightoffer salvation, but it's just
(19:11):
numbers, just bait.
He thinks of calling someone,then realizes he has no one to
call.
Even if he did, what would hesay?
Hey, remember me, I'm nothingnow, just thought I'd share.
He laughs Out loud First timein weeks and then he weeps again
(19:38):
, but this time it feels honest,not like breaking, like
clearing, like something old,finally letting go.
He stays there until the sunsets, then walks back into the
city Night in his pocket, headdown, something.
(19:58):
Something is different in hischest A fracture Maybe, just
maybe a seed, part 6.
The sound beneath the cot feelssmaller now, not physically,
just spiritually, like hisbody's grown heavier with what
(20:22):
it holds and the thin framebeneath him can no longer bear
it.
Each night it groans under theweight not of flesh but of
everything else.
He hasn't changed clothes indays.
His hair is slick with sweatand street grime.
His skin smells like the insideof a coin purse metallic, sour,
(20:45):
unclean.
He showers once a week, if that, whenever the schedule lines up
, whenever there isn't a fightfor the faucet.
But most days it doesn't feelworth it, not because he doesn't
care, but because he does.
That's the worst part.
He still cares.
(21:09):
He still checks the mirror,still avoids certain angles
because they show him too much,still folds the shirt that
smells like her and sleeps withit under his arm, still keeps
the ring in his pocket Tuckedaway for safekeeping.
That's where he lives now.
The ground, every piece of himfeels lowered, leveled.
(21:33):
He eats whatever he's given.
He only speaks when spoken to.
He's learned to dodge thedangerous ones and nod at the
quietly broken.
They form their own tribes inhere those who talk to ghosts,
those who beg for a secondchances and those who have
forgotten that they're evenwaiting.
(21:55):
He doesn't know which one he isyet.
Maybe he's all three.
One night a man overdoses, twobunks over.
He doesn't scream, doesn'tconvulse, he just stops and by
the time they notice he'salready cold.
(22:15):
They carry him out wrapped in ablanket, not even a body bag.
There's something off thedonation pile.
The shelter clears out forhours.
He stays, sits on the cot,stares at the empty bunk and
feels nothing, not shock, notsadness, just the echo of
(22:39):
inviolability.
He pulls out his notebook,tries to write.
He can't.
The pen skips.
The words vanish before theyreach the page.
So he draws a circle, then aline through it, then another,
(22:59):
then another, until it lookslike a shattered compass.
He doesn't know what it means,but it feels true.
That night, the night hums againsoft, like a whisper in his
heart, but this time it hurts,like a low pulse pressing
(23:21):
against something raw.
He holds it in his hand andwatches it do nothing.
No light, no shift, just hum.
He places it on a concretefloor beside the cot.
It hums louder.
He backs away, sits on the edgeof the bed.
(23:45):
The hum doesn't stop.
He kicks it once lightly.
It spins, stops, goes silent.
He doesn't sleep, just watchesit.
Until morning, when he finallystands and puts it back in his
pocket, something shifts insideof him Not peace, not clarity,
but awareness of the soundbeneath everything, of the beat,
(24:08):
behind the noise, of the factthat, even when everything falls
away, something stays and thatsomething is watching.
All right, let's go into themonologue.
This is the bottom, but it'snot the dramatic kind you see in
(24:29):
films.
There's no explosions, nobetrayal, no final scream into
the sky.
It's just silence, just a manfolded into himself, drifting in
a world that stopped callinghis name.
This episode wasn't aboutdecisions, it wasn't about faith
.
It was about weight, about howit feels to carry memories you
(24:52):
can't trade in for food.
About the ring in your pocketstops being romantic and starts
becoming a stone Heavy, cold andever-present.
You watched a man unravel.
He didn't scream, he didn'tfight, he just dimmed.
You may have missed it becauseit doesn't come with a
(25:14):
soundtrack, but the moment hesat still in that cot and felt
nothing, when someone diedbeside him, that was the moment
the world proved itsindifference, the moment he
realized it was all on him.
This wasn't a fall, this wasthe thud, this was the dirt on
(25:37):
the floor of the cave, the pointwhere digging stops.
The point where digging stopsWhether you rot or you rise, and
that's the terror, because thenext move is his.
There's no magic, there's norescuer, there's no rescuer,
just him Alone With a hummingnight.
I should say with the hummingof a night.
(25:58):
That may not even mean anythingreally, right, but if you've
been there, really been there.
You know that's when somethingshifts Not big, not bold, but
real.
This episode invites you to sitin that stillness with him, to
(26:20):
not flinch from the dirt, to askyourself the hardest question
of all what if no one's comingto save you?
And what if that's the bestnews you've ever heard?
Because if no one's coming,then anything and everything
that happens next is yours therecovery, the refusal, the
(26:41):
return.
It starts here, not at themountaintop, at the floor With a
man who smells like rust andsleep beside a piece of metal.
He doesn't understand you, yes,you.
If something in this episodefelt too close, too heavy, it's
(27:02):
not because you're weak, it'sbecause you're carrying and
you've been carrying too heavy.
It's not because you're weak,it's because you're carrying and
you've been carrying too muchalone.
And maybe it's time to namethat, to grieve that, to stop
waiting and start deciding.
So let's go ahead and get intothe reflection questions.
Reflection one what part of youhave you been numbing to
(27:26):
survive man?
I could name five thingsprobably, especially with this.
Number two when was the lasttime you truly let yourself feel
rock bottom, withoutdistracting or escaping?
That's a big question.
(27:46):
Number three what small,unnoticed decision could mark
the beginning of your rise?
Number four what symbols orobjects are you carrying that no
longer give you power but yourefuse to let go of?
And number five who would youbecome if you accepted that no
(28:13):
one is coming to save you, butyou're still worth saving?
I'm going to tell you something,and this is a question that was
asked to me a long, long timeago.
Actually, I think I read it ina book.
To be honest, it said if no oneis coming to save you and you
(28:34):
had a week left to live, whatwould you do with your life?
And that whole thing changed mylife.
It's actually one of thereasons why I started this.
To be honest, you know, I knowthese past two episodes have
been very, very heavy and it'shard to listen to, but I'm just
(28:58):
going to tell you this is thebottom of him.
It starts to get better, but inorder to build a hero, in order
to build someone, you've got tobuild them through challenges
and it has to be honest, right,and that's what we're doing here
.
So please understand thatthere's 16 episodes left and
(29:20):
there's a whole bunch that he'sgoing to go through and he will
ascend, I promise, but it'sgoing to take time and the
reason why I'm saying this.
I got a message today sayinglike oh my gosh, is this guy
going to be okay?
He will, he will be okay, Ipromise so.
Anyways, guys, since we'retalking about um messaging me,
(29:40):
let's just go over that reallyquick.
There's three ways you can doit.
First way is going to bethrough the description here of
the podcast.
There's a function or there'ssomething in the description
that says let's chat.
You click on that and you and Ican have a conversation about
this series, this episode, orthe 200 and I think we're almost
at 270 plus episodes of Gent'sJourney.
(30:03):
There's a ton of them out there.
There's a huge library.
That's the first way.
Second way is through my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom, so
feel free to reach out to methere.
And then, last but certainlynot least, you can always go to
my Instagram.
My Instagram is mygentsjourney,so please, please, please, feel
free to reach out to me thereas well.
(30:24):
Okay, so again, guys, thank youso very much for listening
today.
And remember this you createyour reality, take care.
Popular Podcasts
Fudd Around And Find Out
UConn basketball star Azzi Fudd brings her championship swag to iHeart Women’s Sports with Fudd Around and Find Out, a weekly podcast that takes fans along for the ride as Azzi spends her final year of college trying to reclaim the National Championship and prepare to be a first round WNBA draft pick. Ever wonder what it’s like to be a world-class athlete in the public spotlight while still managing schoolwork, friendships and family time? It’s time to Fudd Around and Find Out!
Crime Junkie
Does hearing about a true crime case always leave you scouring the internet for the truth behind the story? Dive into your next mystery with Crime Junkie. Every Monday, join your host Ashley Flowers as she unravels all the details of infamous and underreported true crime cases with her best friend Brit Prawat. From cold cases to missing persons and heroes in our community who seek justice, Crime Junkie is your destination for theories and stories you won’t hear anywhere else. Whether you're a seasoned true crime enthusiast or new to the genre, you'll find yourself on the edge of your seat awaiting a new episode every Monday. If you can never get enough true crime... Congratulations, you’ve found your people. Follow to join a community of Crime Junkies! Crime Junkie is presented by audiochuck Media Company.
24/7 News: The Latest
The latest news in 4 minutes updated every hour, every day.