First of all, I think I may have found Mad Ricky's old blog. Given his current state, I don't think I'm spoiling anything when I say that it doesn't have a happy ending. Basically, a bunch of terrible things happened, and at the peak of all these horrible things his roommate Jess got devoured by the Intrusion, and now he's crazy and thinks that she lives on through the bugs. Poor kid.
Secondly... I hate seeing homeless people.
The looks on their faces... they just... ugh. What's worse are the couples. The families. When you see a husband and wife, faces dirty, clothes ragged, just standing on the edge of the street, holding each other. That defeated look in their eyes. I can't stand it.
But worst of all is the knowledge that I can't help them. I'm currently funding my trip with my life savings. I can't spare a single cent. And even if I could... how much of a difference would it make? At least, that's the question I ask myself every time I refuse to give them a small donation. That's the justification I use to ease the guilt.
Look at me. I'm trying desperately to save lives. To stop madmen who worship monsters. And yet, I can't do something so simple as make a single person's life better. That's the grand irony of the universe, isn't it? The cruel joke God played when he imparted us with morality.
And yet I still keep going.
What else can I do?