I am a communist. I live in Appalachia. In this destitute, impoverished, addicted little hard-scrabble scratch on the planet, the homeless live in abandoned trailers, secret campsites, and in close proximity to dumpsters. It is harder for some of us – those of us with disabilities – to remain in what real housing we have especially with rents that will take more than all the money you make. I am a high functioning autistic, and I can write. But the handicapped people I know can’t. Three steps from homelessness is not homelessness. Three steps from homelessness is anxiety on a rotating spit. What does going crazy even mean. The status quo is crazy. That anxiety will be used against you. It can be fanned into flames. You could put a match to it. You call it mental illness. We call it just another day in the life. What is interesting to me (like a fly on the wall) is that you will spend nothing for housing these people, but when your law enforcement accidentally runs across human remains, what is discovered is suicide. Then, the system kicks in. But to make that evidence analytical requires something called money to pay for it. Entire cultures will spend vast fortunes obfuscating their own criminal emptiness. Appalachia stumbles along to the tunes of mountaintop removal. You are going to pay now when you could have just given those dead bones and that gun a room.