19 years ago tonight I was sleeping on the streets of Manhattan (probably a Central Park bench, but whatever). Here's a story about the sunny side to every situation...

On the day I was discharged onto the streets, I didn't know where to go, so I wandered around Times Square b/c the theater district was really the only part of town I knew. I thought about sleeping in a Subway station, but didn't know enough about it.

I thought I could maybe sleep in one of the alley ways in between the Broadway theaters, like where the stage door leads out at the Belasco, but I was too scared to try that.

It was starting to get later, and all the shows had started for the night. I went over to the Nederlander and sat outside the doors. I could hear most of the first act of RENT, though it was pretty muffled. But Out Tonight was clearly audible through the doors on street.

A couple other people were there, college-aged like me. They asked if I was going to "second act" the show. I didn't know what that meant. So they told me I could slip in during intermission and look for an empty seat. So I went in with them.

I watched the 2nd act of Rent and for an hour or so forgot about where I was going to sleep that night or what would come next. I tried to hide in the bathrooms, concocting this romantic notion that I would sleep in the theater. Obviously, that didn't happen.

I wound up that first night sleeping in a bathroom stall in Port Authority. The 2nd day of being homeless I was pretty despondent but I went and 2nd acted RENT again. The person sitting in front of me told me after the show that I smelled disgusting. I told her I was homeless.

She gave me all the cash in her wallet and gave me a hug. It was the single nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Over the next 8 months of being homeless (only 2 weeks on the streets, thankfully!) I would 2nd act or rush seat RENT more than 50 times.

When I was sleeping in a shelter right down the street from the theater, I could see the second half of the show and get in just before curfew. I could pick up a single-serve box of Fruit Loops and munch on them while I hummed the show's score in my bottom bunk.

One of the guys who frequently roomed with me would play guitar on the sidewalk and subway, and if he scrounged up enough money he'd buy Twinkies for all the guys in the room, and he'd leave them for me on my pillow.

And sometimes he would even pull his guitar out and sing One Song Glory, because I had gotten him obsessed with RENT too. In a weird way, that shelter was my version of college dorms, and RENT helped me make the most out of a shitty situation.

I have some great memories of chomping on dry Fruit Loops, eating Twinkies, and making RENT dream cast lists in my head before falling asleep. As they say in 42nd Street, "You've no dough so relax, you don't have to pay an income tax." It was a sweet life in some ways.

But right now, homeless people don't have Broadway theaters to go sneak into to make them forget about their problems. Or movie theaters--I snuck into the AMC on 42nd Street more times than I can count. Or free museums. Or building lobbies.

So if you see a homeless person right now, help them out with a little something. Money, food, something to keep them warm, art. Really, art. It's easy to forget you are human when you are out on the streets. A postcard or drawing, a song, whatever. It can make a big difference.