| THE HARD TIMES |
| TRUE LIFE STORIES OF A BROKE, HOMELESS VAGABOUND |
| TO THE CURB |
| I got to borrow my mom’s weekend car, the Jag, to go visit my counselor. Over a month before I’ve been getting help and I just met my counselor for the first time. The actual psychiatrist visits seem to be a long way off. I don’t want, or need, the drugs he’ll definitely prescribe. I need to be put on disability. I can’t cope with my life anymore. I self-medicate with alcohol and weed, the last things in life that give me a vague sense of happiness. I hate it that I have to lie about my drinking and drugs, but I know if I don’t they won’t help me. I got my venting hour completed. I yelled, screamed, cried, cracking a joke every once in a while. What else can I do? That song Loser by Beck was on the radio as I pulled up in the scrapyard and opened the trunk of the car. How appropriate. I pulled out three bags of crushed beer cans and walked back and set them on the enormous scale built for scrap metal. This skinny little black dude was in the corner cutting copper pipes into managable pieces. It was springtime and atypically over 80 degrees and he was in a ski hat and layers of shirts. I didn’t want to bother him. I just stood and watched him work. Dude turned around and saw me standing there. “What the fuck!?!” I scared the fuck out of him. I cracked up. “Damn! You could of sneaked up in here and killed me!” Too funny. He was one cute dude. With that kind of customer service, I’m looking forward to going back. He didn’t know how to weigh such a small amount of metal so he called the boss in. I know the program. My cans were weighed and I followed the manager into the office to get paid. I had ninety-nine cents worth of aluminum. I told the manager I could give him a penny for a dollar. He said, “Keep it.” I am so to the curb. I was hungry for food for the first time in days so I went to the grocery store next. I was cut off of food stamps months ago, but I still had a decent balance in the amount I accumulated during the three months I was allowed food money. I bought a loaf of rye bread, something with some flavor. My mom buys that bread that tastes like nothing. That can’t tempt someone that has depression on my level to eat. A loaf of bread that costs $1.25 is expensive for me. I had to do it. I was having a good day. I earned a dollar. I was hungry. I reached into my pocket to pay for the bread and pulled out my dollar, tramp stamp card and three winning instant lottery tickets, gifts. Damn. When those are your only cash funds you realize you’re really fucked up. I wasn’t always that way. I was once quite well off. The good ole days. I had more money than I was interested in spending. I had a big, white house sitting on an acre of property on a highly respectable street. I had whatever fast car I wanted. I had art collections to die for. I had a productive vegetable garden. I was a feared and respected fencer. I was a member of the local historical society. I was a mentor to children. I was even once a mother. Not anymore. I was a whore, conned by society. Not anymore. Now I have nothing, except my integrity. I hate it that I lie to get psychiatric help. I know with time certain lines will blur, but I’ll still always fight for my integrity. Unfortunately, I’ve come to understand that it’s necessary in life to lie and cheat, but I don’t want to. I was slicing a piece of bread when the phone rang. Usually I won’t answer it, but I was in the mood to tell off some telemarketer. No, I don’t have a house to put new siding or windows on. Yes, you will decline my application for a pre-approved credit card. No, I don’t think I need life insurance. I know I’m worth more dead than alive, but why should I give them my money? It was a old acquaintance, newly out of prison for drug dealing. He’s a liar and a thief and a piece of shit; but he’s blunt about it, and that makes me laugh. In a way I even respect him. The first time we met he asked, “You want to fuck?” “Okay.” I said. That’s how I am about sex. Admit or not, everyone knows if they want to fuck in the first five minutes. He stole a very rare and valuable guitar from me. The last time I saw him he was in an orange jumpsuit and chains. Didn’t even recognize him at first. Thought he looked good, before I recognized him. He knew he could just ask and get sex, with no strings attached, but I refused. He was shocked. He said he wanted me to be his first, even though I know he probably already had it and was lying. Ordinarily I would have. Sex without attachments, the best way to do it. But I changed. I wouldn’t, couldn’t. He offered the sun, moon and all the stars to me, and I knew he was good for it. He’s loaded, but I thought against it. He wanted to know why. “Because I’m with someone.” “So what?” “But I told him I wouldn’t be with anyone else.” “Just lie to him. Cheat. I don’t care.” “I can't. I have feelings for him.” “What the fuck!?! Feelings!?! There’s no such thing as feelings! You know that, you're just like me.” Ordinarily I would have agreed. “Well I guess I’m dickwhipped then.” I tried to put it in a way he might understand it. “What the fuck? I can’t believe you. That’s not how you are!” “I guess I am now.” “No you’re not, just kick it with me. I’ll pay all your bills. I’ll watch your back. Let’s go to the casino, right now, any casino in the world. Let’s spend the summer in Amsterdam.” We argued about it for hours. He said he had plenty of time to think of me in prison. He knows all my weaknesses. I wish I knew of a woman with my attitude towards sex to send his way. No woman thinks about sex like I do. Anyway, to sum it all up, my loyalty couldn’t be bought. And I’m suffering in the worst way right now. Maybe I’m not comfortable, but I’m happy. I’ve been on both ends, richer or poorer. I’m not the sentimental type, but somewhere along the way I found myself in love. John Con might be right that when it’s all said and done with my love I’ll regret it, but not now, and now is all I have. |
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| THE AUTHOR |
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| BIG ASS SPIDERS |
| DON'T BE A CHEAPSKATE SUPPORT LOWLIFE LITERATURE |
| IF YOU LIKE GOOD WRITING HERE'S A GOOD STORY: |
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| PAGE 2 INCLUDES SEX STORY OF THE WEEK & PINUP OF THE WEEK |
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