Life was bleak for Larry Broughton.
As he sat there, all alone on the rooftop of the building he lived in, regret and despair crushing him with their might, Larry broke down in tears.
“What the hell have you done,” he raged at himself. Why had he left a purpose-packed life as a member of the United States Army Special Forces for this?
The former Green Beret looked around that rooftop, trying not to think about his apartment a few floors below. It was a filthy studio apartment shared with two others, about as depressing as the “no-tell motel” he’d found a job in.
Five dollars an hour went to him for his auditing work, and another hourly rate was paid to that motel by its patrons, in and out 24 hours a day, one or more hours at a time. Larry Broughton made the best of his living arrangements by sleeping during the day and working the 11 pm to 7 am shift at the hotel.
He was barely recognizable as the warrior he’d been not long ago, having left all the positive, intentional lifestyle practices and habits behind. He now blended in better with the other staff members – a pimp on probation, drug dealers, addicts, and prostitutes both on staff and as frequent hotel patrons.
You’d never guess he’d been through any of that, or the dark times still before him, looking at him now.