As a child, a lived in a run down apartment block in a very poor neighborhood in Russia. I was raised by a single mother who worked 12 hours a day as an assistant eye doctor. I think my mother felt guilt for me not having a father, as she gave me anything I wanted, and gave me no responsibilities. A majority of my time was spent riding the city bus with a few other latchkey friends of mine. This way of being raised affected me into adult hood. Eventually I was able to move out, mostly on the good nature of one of my friends, who paid a majority of the rent when I couldn't. I mostly busked to make money, around 15 dollars a day. I refused to get a real job, so eventually my friend kicked me out of the apartment, and I moved back in with my mom. I think because of my age, my mother finally changed her stance of parenting. She decided that I was lazy and worthless, and that I needed to get a job and do every chore in the house, forgetting that she was the reason I was this way. I tried my best, but my disposition was so ingrained in me, that I couldnt hold a job to save my life. Eventually i was kicked out, and forced to live in my car, which I had inherited from a dead family member. I spent a few years doing odd jobs and more busking, barely scraping by. Some months I lived with heroin addicts in roach infected apartments. I was seeing a girl on the side, who had her life together far more than I did. She tried and failed to get me to grow up. The thing that changed me was the birth of my first child. A girl. Ironically, the child had been conceived due to irresponsibility. I knew that I needed to support this kid. Something changed in me, and I got a steady job and started paying for a good apartment. We were doing good for a long time. It seemed like nothing could go wrong. I was on a business trip of Cherno one week, when the infection had started to spread in small towns. At this point, it wasn't consuming a large part of my mind. It rested on the back burner of my consciousness. I heard the news that the virus had spread to such a degree, that leaving the city was no longer possible. So I waited in a fevered state, calling my wife constantly. When it arrived, it was chaos. Inside the train station I waited, hoping to get home in time. I watched the faces around me contort and change. I observed in slow motion, the expressions of inexplicable rage. It was too late by this time. The train was not to come. Nothing was. The only thing I could do was flee. I found the safest place I could, and I waited. No longer could I contact my family. This is where I am now, survival occupying my mind more than anything. My goal is to thrive, so that I can finally start looking for my wife a child. I hope they are still out there.