What Happened To The Gutter Punks?

“I used to live in the stairwells because winter in Northern cities is cold as f*ck.

In the early 2000s, I lived my life as a gutter punk. I was sixteen, and my boyfriend *George, at the time, got me into the lifestyle. We weren’t homeless, but most of us were searching for something in the crowded yet lonesome city. We found it in each other and in punk rock.

Drinking came with the lifestyle, but graffiti was our form of existence in the city. We left a piece of us behind wherever we went. Owning it one wall at a time. And the city would be on our heels, trying to cover us up, denying our presence.

There are always gaps inside the skyscraper. Between offices and locked doors, those dark little corners were my home. I was still in school back then, but I learned that you can pack all your belongings in a backpack. You really don’t need a suitcase to survive. No. Your suitcase would be lying under a bed at your friend’s home.

‘Do you know how much food goes to waste in the city every day?’ my then-boyfriend asked me. ‘If you go to a restaurant and stay there for thirty minutes, the leftovers can feed both of us. As for whether people want or do not want to feed us, that’s a different issue. It seems to me that most of the time, they would rather throw it into the dumpster.”

Not paying for food wasn’t so much about money. It was us making a statement on consumerism.

It all went swiftly until we couldn’t find any more food. That was when we ended up stealing hot dogs from a 711 one time. I had never stolen a thing, and I wouldn’t do it even for the lifestyle, so George instead did it for both of us.

Not taking more than what we needed was his rule, also sharing what we had with people who needed it.

George’s way of thinking is that what comes around goes around. The whole world was a big storm of exchange. There’s no need to hold onto anything. Have some trust in the process. Maybe you don’t have a place to go at night, but you’ll always find one at the end of the day. Maybe you don’t know what your next meal will be at the moment, but you’ll find it when it’s time.

For about a year, we lived in extreme instability, hopping on trains and not knowing where we’d go. But we’d always find somewhere to camp at the end of the day. It’d be our temporary home, and tomorrow was another day. We had to search for food, utilizing everything we had: charm, tools we picked up on the side of the road, compassion of kind-hearted people, promise of a good time… and things always worked out as George promised.

Eventually, I went home to the house I grew up in, to the people who raised me.

At a point, gutter punk stopped being a choice between teenage rebellion and going to school. I was staring at homelessness right in the eye, and reality settled in. I started to see that our little rebellion was an insult to people in real desperate situations. It was not all fun.

It was a privilege. Because in the end, we were just a bunch of kids who ran off so we didn’t have to face the problems of growing up. Some of us didn’t know who we were. Some of us didn’t want to be an average 9-to-5 Joe. Some of us thought the world was a lie. Many did die in the gutter.

I got to go on with my life, have a kid, and worry about paying bills and stuff. Having a choice is a privilege. When you see it that way, you learn to appreciate what you have more.

From there was a long road back to society. I quit smoking and stopped drinking. But I still had demons to face. You see, none of us would’ve drifted that far if we fit neatly into society. I had to figure out who I was and where I belonged.

I ended up becoming a writer and building my own businesses. The 9-to-5 thing never became my reality (only briefly). George joined the force, but remained a punk musician at night. Most of our friends work in the film industry.

*name changed for anonymity.