Hotel Honda: The Story of Bruce Richall (row of cars in car park - Getty Images)

I really liked my job and wanted to keep it. I joined in February, and having worked for many years as an IT contractor - with its inherent instability - this position offered the potential of a full-time position. It could become a "secure" job.

But when security guards made simple, routine rounds though the cubes and offices, people would look up from their desks.

There would be a sigh of relief as the guards kept going.

But it didn't happen this time. On a Friday, my manager came to my desk. Usually he came by to ask me if I could put in some overtime. But, just by the look on his face, I could tell. This wasn't an overtime request. This is it, I said to myself.

Sure enough, I was told that my last day would be the end of the month.

Though I didn't show it outwardly, I was devastated.

I would have another month before leaving so that I could start yet another job search. I immediately contacted my agency to let them know that the assignment would be ending.

My last day at the bank was bitter-sweet. There was a cake and a card. We joked but inside I was truly frightened. I asked myself what would happen to me now, in such a difficult job market? Would I become homeless?

At the end of my last day, my manager came downstairs with me. We had a cigarette and talked.

"Bruce, if I can get you back here, you know I will," he said. His words were kind and well-intentioned.

My life today has changed dramatically since my brief tenure with the bank.

Now I'm facing a very uncertain future.

I had to move from my apartment, put my belongings in storage and find a homeless shelter.

I now sleep in the back of my car, while I wait for a bed to become available at the shelter. I call it The Hotel Honda.

I keep a good suit and a dress shirt in the back of the car for interviews. I tell recruiters that I'm working.

This is not the life I imagined for myself when I graduated from university. I never thought it would ever come down to this, but here I am - homeless.

What galls me the most is that about one third of my income is taxed. I'm taxed on what I earn and taxed on what I spend.

Now that I'm in need there is nowhere to turn.

Nobody is helping me except for my contributions to my unemployment account.

Yet our leaders have found a way to bail out the very institutions that have put myself, and others, at risk.